


Grease Fire The lusty story of a short order fry cook, her trusty spatula, and her mission to become the most pounded piece of meat in the entire Austin Texas area.

by anastasiadiazlove



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Cooking, F/F, Multi, Road Trips, Texas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiadiazlove/pseuds/anastasiadiazlove
Summary: A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.





	1. CHAPTER ONE: A Friday Morning Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Updates three times a week

CHAPTER ONE: A Friday Morning Meeting  
Katya’s clammy palm slapped down viciously on the alarm clock, hitting the snooze button for the fifth time that morning. The horrible automated beep had forced its way into her dreams, ruining the delightful fantasy she’d been having about her upstairs neighbor. So much for that. She thought gloomily to herself as she groped for a loose cigarette on her cluttered nightstand. She was still a little aroused from the dream, but there was simply no time to take care of that now; it would have to wait til after work. Grumbling to herself, Katya jammed a cigarette into her mouth, lit it, and inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine wake her up. She hated her nasty habit, but she had to admit, there was nothing quite like the first cigarette of the day.  
After an application of deodorant and a quick wash of her hair in the sink, Katya tugged on her favorite white crewneck T and a clean pair of her work overalls. Barely stopping to lock the door and wolf down a piece of toast with three orange slices, Katya rushed down the six flights of stairs that led up to her Austin Texas apartment. If her bastard of a landlord didn't fix the elevator soon, she thought, she was going to sue.  
Buckling herself into her blue Lancia Beta, Katya revved the engine and sped away from the curb, cranking the radio up on her favorite station: 60’s hard rock. She knew she couldn’t be late today of all days: her manager had sent out an email to all the employees of the Grill Me Good Diner last Wednesday that the owner of the entire chain would be stopping by for a visit. Even though she was a lowly fry cook, and thus on the bottom of the proverbial totem pole, Katya, like the rest of the diner’s employees, would still be expected to make an appearance.  
As the final light in her fifteen minute commute turned red, Katya idly fondled one of her nicely formed breasts. The remnants of her sexy dream had not, as she had hoped, disappeared. If anything, the feelings were growing stronger, and Katya knew she would have to do something to relieve the tension soon if she was going to be expected to focus during her shift. Maybe she’d have time for a quick masturbation session in the employee bathroom before the lunch rush. Either way, she had a shortened shift today, as she had somewhere to be that afternoon, so her sexual needs wouldn’t be left unattended to for that long. The light turned green, and Katya returned her hand to the steering wheel, driving on.  
She flew through the drowsy Austin streets, windows down, wind whipping through her long blonde hair, which was still slightly damp. When she finally reached the diner she wrenched the keys from the ignition and ran inside, grabbing her white hat and apron from the hook by the back door. She smiled at the comfortable and familiar weight of her spatula in the front apron pocket as it bounced along with her breasts. That spatula had been with her for nearly ten years, together they’d been through countless breakups and many low-paying jobs. Life could be hard, but with spatula in hand, Katya knew she’d always land on her feet.  
“You’re cutting it close Miss Zamolodchikova.” Came a high yet masculine voice as Katya jogged into the still-closed seating area. The rest of the staff had gathered there, and were waiting in a semicircle by the front door. Katya looked through her coworkers for who had spoken to her, and finally identified the voice as belonging to her manager, Kyle Willoughby. He smirked at her, showing he was only playing, and Katya smiled back, falling into line in the semicircle. Kyle was relatively new to the diner, and Katya was still figuring out exactly what made him tick. He was very tall and extremely thin, nothing like Katya’s last manager, Karissa, who’d been on the shorter side and had had an ass to die for. Still, there was something about Kyle that Katya found appealing, the way he confidently held himself, even in a room full of strangers.  
“Listen up.” Kyle said, addressing the team now. “The owner will be here soon and I want you to treat her with the respect she deserves, none of that back talk you love to give me, got it?” He asked, winking conspiratorially.  
“Got it.” The team chorused, a few of the workers giving low chuckles.  
“Great,” Kyle continued, “And there’s actually one more thing I should tell you. The owner has informed me that she’ll be holding a special meeting with one of our very own in light of some recent events. Katya.” He turned and stared right at her, his blue eyes excited. “That person is you.”  
Katya gasped. What the fuck did I do? She thought to herself, mentally running through her attendance record and performance history. She knew that aside from her semi-regular tardiness she was an upstanding employee, and on top of that she was the best damn fry cook in all of the central Texas area. But still, whatever this “private meeting” was about could not be good. However, before Katya even had a chance to respond there came a sharp knock at the door. The sound of strong knuckles rapping at the wood pulled Katya out of her stupor and she watched as Kyle quickly twisted the knob and swung the door open. The semicircle of employees moved back as a woman entered.  
“Hello everybody.” Came a surprisingly low voice as the woman strode into the room, letting the diner’s dim lights expose her image to the team. She was tall, maybe 6’4 plus her heels which had to be at least four inches. She had glossy black hair swept and cropped at her chin and she wore a long black overcoat that was tied seductively at her wide-hipped waist. Large sunglasses obscured her eyes, but her expertly applied ruby red lipstick, which wonderfully complemented her dark complexion, demanded all attention, and made it so you couldn’t help but stare at her mouth. The woman was, to put it simply, gorgeous, and Katya was shocked for the second time that morning. The woman strode farther into the room, smiling a greeting to the team. “I’m so happy to see you all assembled here bright and early!” She said in her husky voice. “Kyle’s told me you’re a wonderful team to work with.”  
“They are.” Kyle agreed. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water or coffee?”  
“I’m fine, thank you.” The woman said, flashing a dazzling smile in Kyle’s direction. “Infact, I won’t be staying long.” She turned, addressing the crowd. “But I would still like to shake hands with every one of you. You can call me Bob, by the way.” She smirked, removing her sunglasses to reveal a dazzling pair of eyes framed in a scarlet eyeshadow that matched her lipstick.  
“It’s nice to meet you, Bob.” Said a chorus of voices as one by one Bob moved around the semicircle, shaking the hands of the sixty or so diner employees that had managed to come in early for that very privilege. As she had been the last to arrive, Katya was last in line, but when Bob finally reached her she gripped her hand firmly and her eyes flashed in recognition.  
“The fry cook.” She said quietly, looking Katya up and down. She was so close Katya could smell her sweet breath. “You must be Katya.”  
“I am.” Katya said, admittedly a little nervous. “I heard you wanted to have a meeting with me.”  
“Yes, please follow me.” With that, Bob waved her goodbyes to the rest of the employees and led Katya through the seating area, past the kitchen, and into the cramped room that Kyle called an office. Once both the women were inside, Bob shut the door firmly, and Katya swallowed when she heard the small click that meant the door was properly latched. Katya took a seat in one of the two chairs, and her eyes watched as Bob shrugged off her long black overcoat. Beneath it she was wearing a thin white blouse that clung tautley to her large breasts, and a fashionable pair of black cigarette pants. As the woman moved to perch on the edge of Kyle’s desk, Katya gazed at her with admiration: her thin blouse left nothing to the imagination, and she could tell one thing from the way the woman’s stoic nipples pushed at the overly-tight material: she meant business.  
“Now Katya,” The woman began, crossing her legs slowly as she spoke, “Kyle has told me a lot about you, and I must say I’m impressed. I had a look at your resume, and your job history along with the all the glowing letters of recommendation, well it made me feel like your talents were potentially being wasted in your current position of part-time head fry cook. You are, as the youth say, flipping awesome.  
“Flipping awesome at flipping burgers.” Katya quipped back slyly, the woman’s praise quickly restoring her confidence. Bob laughed and Katya’s vagina reacted, tightening and moistening in response to the low, gravelly tones.  
“I have a job in mind for you.” Bob went on, her hands creeping up her waist, then to her shoulders. “It’s a promotion really, something with higher pay and a lot more responsibility.” Agonizingly slowly, Katya watched as Bob’s manicured french tips undid the top button of her blouse.  
What is her game? Katya wondered to herself. Could she possibly be after the same thing I am? It seemed too good to be true.  
“Of course,” Bob was saying, her expert fingers making quick work of the blouse buttons, “There are a few more credentials of yours that I’ll need to check.” Her shirt now hung open, her breasts nearly to freedom. The only thing holding them back was a lacy black bra, but it didn’t look like it could hold much longer.  
“And how can I make that happen?” Katya asked, pulling of her white cook’s cap. Her blonde hair tumbled out, now dry and wavy from the confinement.  
“Fuck me.” Bob said suddenly, rising from the desk. She ripped off her bra and thrust her chest in Katya’s face, her smooth breasts cushioning the action. “I need to know you can handle the company’s assets as well as you can handle mine.” Without another word Katya opened her mouth and received Bob’s hard nipples. They had elongated with exciteement and Katya sucked them gleefully, nibbling with enough force to make Bob groan. Her nipples still in Katya’s mouth, Bob ecstatically pulled off her cigarette pants, revealing a dainty black lace thong that matched the now long discarded bra. Removing it with as much force as she had the bra, Bob gasped and shuddered as Katya’s index finger immediately slipped into her wet, shaven pussy the moment it was on display. Once inside, Katya began to masturbate her, her fingers practiced from years of preparing hollow burgers to stuff with cheese.  
“Oh, Katya.” Bob moaned. “I knew you’d be up for the job.” She began to grind on Katya’s finger, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Katya slipped a second finger inside of Bob and matched the powerful woman’s rhythm, giving and taking just enough. Bob was becoming wetter by the second, and soon Katya’s fingers began to slosh about in the woman’s love-juice. However, it couldn’t last. Katya could tell Bob was growing tired from the effort, so she gently laid her down on Kyle’s desk, her smooth back covering up various expense reports Katya knew Kyle would file later than morning. The tensions was rising, the room was heating up, and It was time for a move Katya knew better than any other.  
Without hesitation, the still somewhat awestruck blonde reached into her apron and pulled out her trusty spatula.  
“It’s hardly the time for a fucking fried chicken sandwich.” Bob said, but Katya hastily put a finger to her glistening red lips, silencing her. Calmly, she traced the cool metal of the spatula over Bob’s still erect tits, down her soft stomach and finally, to the entrance of the woman’s dampened vagina. There, she rested, as she leaned in and finally took the kiss she had been waiting for. The women’s tongues intertwined as their mouths met forcefully. Bob nipped at Katya’s lower lip, catching it between her teeth and tugging. Katya reciprocated tasting her sweet, sweet saliva.  
Suddenly, Bob screamed as Katya quickly and without warning inserted the handle of the spatula into the woman’s vagina, rapidly sliding it in all the way up to the metal plate. Taking advantage of Bob’s sexual jolt, she stepped back.  
Removing her overalls, T shirt and undergarments, Katya crawled onto the desk, now straddling Bob, her entire body on display. She loved the direction her boss had taken this meeting, it was exactly what she had needed, but she knew in her mind that she would require more details on this mysterious promotion the owner had spoken of before accepting. After all, she thought as she lowered her pussy onto Bob’s eager mouth, she barely knew the woman!  
With a muffled cry of pleasure Bob began to lick Katya’s downstairs business, taking special care of each desired area—labia, vulva, and clit, in that order—as if they were her own children. It was immensely satisfying, and Katya whooped in excitement as she could feel the woman’s silky tongue strongly thwacking against her vaginal walls.  
What a technique! She thought to herself admiringly. I’ll have to take notes.  
After about fifteen minutes of this Katya was disappointed to feel Bob wriggle out from under her, finally coming up for air. She was nearly to climax, so Katya moved her hand down towards her vagina to finish herself, but Bob lunged suddenly, grabbing her wrist.  
“Not yet.” Bob said, her flushed face alarmingly urgent. She let go of Katya’s wrist. “Katya, I want to be the one to finish you, I want to feel you cum and I want to inhale every drop of your orgasm, but today is not the day.” Katya stared at her in confusion, her hand aching to scrabble down and finish the job, but she abstained, out of respect.  
“I don’t understand, Bob.” She said, wondering how on Earth the other woman could resist allowing that sweet release. “Wasn’t the dish to your taste?”  
“Of course it was.” Bob gave another sexy, low laugh. “It’s just that, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again soon, and I want our reunion to be special. Please don’t be upset, but you have to understand. Some things are worth waiting for.” With that, Bob popped the spatula out of her vagina and shrugged back on her overcoat, now slightly wrinkled from being thrown to the floor. Still dazed and unable to follow the woman’s odd train of thought, Katya quickly got dressed and followed Bob back out into the seating area.  
The diner was open now, and breakfast was well underway. Katya nodded politely at one of her co-part time fry cook co-workers who had stepped in to cover for her during her meeting. Bob led Katya to an open booth and motioned for her to sit, producing a manila envelope from the folds of her overcoat that was fastened with red twine.  
“I ask that you please refrain from opening this manila envelope.” Bob said, sliding the thing towards Katya across the vaguely sticky tabletop.  
“What is it?” Katya asked, testing it’s weight in her hands. It didn’t feel very heavy.  
“Just some business paperwork.” Bob said, waving away the comment with her hand. “It’s part of your promotion, should you choose to accept.”  
“I want to, but what exactly is this new job?” Katya wondered aloud. “I don’t want to tie myself down to something boring or terrible.”  
“Totally understandable.” Bob grinned, flashing her white teeth. “The job is simple really. You’re familiar with the Dallas based organization TM's Pickles?” Katya nodded. Of course she was familiar, TM's and Grill Me Good Diners were close business partners; Katya never went a day without serving at least 200 of TM's famous pickles, the customers just loved them. “Well,” Bob continued, “there was a freight accident at TM's headquarters late Tuesday night, and because of it their trucks are down. Their shipments for the next two weeks are canceled, but as I’m sure you know, this location was supposed to receive a pickle delivery tomorrow. Katya furrowed her brow gravely. She knew the diner’s pickle supply was running low, and she herself had been counting on that delivery tomorrow to keep everything running smoothly. Many of the diner’s loyal regulars would be outraged if they didn’t get a TM pickle with their order, and without their patronship… Katya shuddered to think what would happen to the restaurant.  
“Not having those pickles would be a disaster.” Katya voiced at last, meeting Bob’s serious gaze.  
“I’m aware.” The woman said. “Which is where you come in. I trust you Katya, you’ve proved yourself to me in all the right ways, so I know you’re the gal for the job. What I’m asking of you is this: I need you to make the trek up from Austin to Dallas, and personally collect the diner’s pickle order. You’ll be flying solo on this one as we can’t spare anymore of the diner’s staff—we’re already sparing you, the best worker we have—” she winked, “so you’ll be completely alone out on the road. What do you say, are you up for the task?” Katya thought about it, mulling the proposition over in her mind. The whole thing didn’t sound too difficult, perfectly manageable if Katya budgeted her time reasonably, and the hike in pay was definitely a selling point. When she was good and set on her answer, Katya reached out her hand. This time she was the one to initiate the handshake. Bob grasped her hand firmly and pumped, rising from the booth.  
“I’m so glad you accept.” She said, motioning for Katya to follow her once again. “You’ll be leaving immediately, so come with me round back, I want to show you the transportation accommodations we’ll be providing you with. The two women exited the seating area full of its happy customers, traveled through the kitchen, past Kyle’s office that still radiated an odor of sweat and bodily fluids, and finally out the back door that Katya had entered through not too long ago that morning. Blinking in the blistering Texan sunlight, Katya took a moment to shield her eyes, letting them adjust from the dim diner lights to the outdoor environment. Once she felt she was ready, she moved her hand, and gasped.  
It wasn’t possible.  
Katya staggered in amazement and reached for the comfort of her spatula to steady herself. Towering in front of her was a behemoth of an automobile, a massive big rig with a red chrome finish and wheels bigger than she was. The semi truck gleamed in the sunlight, and it seemed to whisper to her, begging her to slide behind the wheel and get the engine roaring to life, cruising through America’s heartland, obeying no laws but the law of the open road.  
“Am I dreaming again?” Katya murmured, staggering towards the semi on Bambi-like legs.  
“Certainly not. This is your ride.” Bob said, gesturing to the truck with her arms as wide as they’d go, still unable to encompass the sheer size of it. “This is what you’ll be taking to pick up the pickle delivery.”

Coming soon:  
CHAPTER TWO: The Best Little Dormouse In Texas  
Katya’s journey from Austin to Dallas gets interrupted by an unexpected call from one of the diner’s bun suppliers. How will this development affect her new job, and how will Katya’s trusty spatula get her out of this one?


	2. CHAPTER TWO: The Best Little Dormouse In Texas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates three time a week

**CHAPTER TWO: The Best Little Dormouse In Texas**

Katya’s journey from Austin to Dallas gets interrupted by an unexpected call from one of the diner’s bun suppliers. How will this development affect her new job, and how will Katya’s trusty spatula get her out of this one?

 

“You’ve got to be joking!” Katya guffawed, running her hands over the freshly waxed chrome finish of the mammoth big rig. “Don’t you need a special license to drive these things?”

“You do,” Bob admitted, “but we’ve had the paperwork expedited for you, so you’re good to go. It’s all about connections, you know.”

“Yes.” Katya agreed. She knew all about these big business types and their connections in government. Bob might have been a fantastic lover, but she was no exception.

“Here.” Bob tossed her the keys to the truck and her new license, both of which Katya deftly caught. “You should probably be on your way, we’re counting on you.”

“It’ll be a piece of cake.” Katya said, straightening her apron before vaulting up and into the truck’s cabin. She fished in her front apron pocket for a cigarette, found one, and quickly lit it. With a booming sound Katya honked her goodbye’s to Bob, sucked a drag from her cigarette, and thundered down the scenic road that Austin Texas was famous for.

 

Wind in her hair, Katya couldn’t help but grin as her newly-appointed big rig tore over the landscape. She relished in the envious points and stares she got from passersby as her chrome-finished semi whizzed past them. She honked her booming horn and waved for children who cheered in response. She finished her cigarette, and was just passing Georgetown, well on her way to Dallas, when her phone began to ring. The dulcet tones of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” filled the cabin and Katya swore, slowing the truck as she felt around in her right overalls pocket for her phone.

_ It better not be  _ her. Katya’s mind said, going immediately to the thought of her recent ex. The two had split up earlier that year, and Katya’s ex wasn’t taking it well. She would usually call once, sometimes even twice a day, but Katya never answered. She breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t see the telltale “G” on the front screen of her phone, but soon furrowed her brow: the call was coming from an unknown number. Tentatively, Katya flipped the phone open and held it up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Am I speaking to one Katya Zamolodchikova?” A heavily accented male voice drawled into the phone. At least Katya now knew she was speaking to a fellow Texan.

“You are.” She responded. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“The name’s Brett.” He answered loudly. “As I understand it, we’re in business together.” When Katya said nothing, the man continued. “See, I run a little company called The Central Texas Dough Project, a subsidiary of The Texas Dough Project, and we supply your little diner there with all the bread products it needs.”

“Oh, of course.” Katya said, recognizing the name she usually saw in red cursive font printed on the boxes she reached into every time she needed so much as a sesame-bun or a slice of good old plain white bread. So she was talking to one of the diner’s suppliers. This ought to be interesting. “What can I do for you today?”

“Well, we had a little accident at the plant,” the man said plaintively, “our trucks broke down right as we were prepping them for a bun delivery to your diner. I didn’t know what to do, seeing as all the buns are just sitting outside baking in the sun, well baking for a  _ second _ time I should say-” both Katya and the man laughed, “and when I called the diner they forwarded me to you, said you were already on your way out to pick up a different delivery and that you’d be able to swing by and get this one as well. Our factory is right here in Waco.”

“Wonderful!” Katya said, loving the way everything seemed to be falling into place. Waco Texas was just off of highway 35, the same highway she was currently speeding down at 80 miles an hour. It was right on the way to Dallas and would mean almost no detour at all. Things were looking up. “I’ll be there very soon.” Katya said, hanging up and stepping on the accelerator.

 

Sometime later, the big rig groaned as it made the tight turn off of the main road and into the The Central Texas Dough Project’s parking lot. There was a group of workers already waiting there, familiar boxes in hand, and Katya tipped her white cap to them as she clambered down from the truck cabin and opened the back of the truck. Cool, refrigerated air wafted out of the enormous container and Katya breathed a sigh of relief. At least  _ her _ truck was working fine. The uniformed people went to work loading the boxes into the semi as one of them ushered Katya inside, where she was greeted by a somewhat short, but very handsome man.

“Katya, thank you so much for helping us complete the delivery.” He said, shaking her hand warmly.

“Anything for the diner.” Katya said, removing her cap and letting her blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders coyley. She liked the look of this man, and she hoped, that if he was anything like the other business executive she’d met earlier that day, she’d be in for some fun. After all, she still had her own important order to fill: her orgasm. “And who are you exactly?” She inquired, even though she recognized his voice from the previous phone call.

“Why, it’s me!” He said, somewhat startled. “We talked earlier. The name’s Brett, Brett Domalta, but you can call me ‘Dormouse.’”

“Dormouse?” Katya asked curiously. “Why do they call you that?”

“‘Cuz I’m shy with my money. It’s just a little joke me and some of the boys down at the poker ring’ve got going on.” He answered, dismissing the worker who had shown Katya in. The two were now alone and Katya took a chance to appraise her surroundings. They were stood in a spacious room, everything gleaming, immaculately clean. The white walls bore no stains and the stainless steel counters, which lined the room, were shining like brand new. The room was cool but not cold, and resting on all the available counter space were trays filled with every type of bread imaginable. There was pumpernickel, wheat bread, loaves of sourdough and baguettes. Pretzel rolls dominated one corner while another was devoted to brioche. All the bread was in various stages of baking, some golden and crusty, some still dough. Katya smiled approvingly.

“It’s quite a collection you’ve got here.” She said.

“Thank you.” Brett beamed. Katya could tell she’d hit on a point of pride for him. “We are the top performing subsidiary out of all five subsidiaries from our parent company.” He said.

“Impressive.” Katya took a step forward and deliberately removed her apron. The man’s eyes widened.

“So, tell me.” He said nervously, his tan complexion gone confusingly pale. “Your last name is Zamolodchikova. Is that Ukrainian?”

“Russian, actually.” Katya said, unhooking her overalls so they hung at her waist, baring her toned midriff. “But it’s a common mistake.” She stepped towards him as her thoughts took her back to the barren landscape and oppressive government her parents had left long ago.

“H-how interesting.” The man said, twiddling his thumbs with anxious energy. “I’m mostly European, but my great-great grandfather on my mother’s side was of Guatemalan descent.” Katya rolled her eyes. She hated these types of men, who felt the need to yammer on and on about nonsense as foreplay. Couldn’t he see she needed to get fucked? All she wanted to do was walk right up to him and get her hands around his cock, but she didn’t want to frighten him; the diner was counting on her and she couldn’t have this dormouse scurrying away. She needed to make him feel comfortable, needed to show him that she could be part of his world. Slowly, she reached down towards the tray next to her, and picked up a well-done, crusty breadstick.

“Do you mind if I have a sample?” Katya asked, licking the stick up and down before the man even had a chance to respond. It was still warm from the oven, and it tasted wonderful, an explosion of buttery garlic flavor. Katya kept licking the breadstick and the man’s pale cheeks quickly darkened with desire. There were no more mixed signals between them, and she knew he was up to the task. Brett Domalta was in for the fuck of his life.

In one fluid motion Katya sucked the breadstick down her throat and brought it out again, now dripping with her saliva. Brett shivered and quickly undid his tie, his canary yellow dress shirt following. Katya’s eyes widened in surprise. The man’s chest was perfectly smooth, without a stray hair to be seen. He had strong pecs and defined stomach muscles that glistened slightly with sweat. To top it all off, he had somewhat large nipples, which stood out, hard and perky, a trait Katya loved in a man. In response, Katya tugged off her own T shirt and bra and let her breasts join in the fun. Brett’s mouth began to water and he was quickly all over Katya’s chest, fondling her breasts for all he was worth as she continued to lick and suck the now soggy breadstick. 

Katya had big breasts—double D’s—and they were impeccably smooth, showing no signs of the womans thirty years on this earth. Katya always took special care of her chest, and was now glad she did, because the somewhat short man was really putting them through the wringer. He honked them and batted them, slobbering all over her areolas and extended nipples. He couldn’t seem to get enough of them, and Katya knew exactly what to do. 

Lowering herself to her knees, she easily undid the European-Guatemalan’s belt and lowered his black slacks around his ankles. He wore nothing but a pair of tight yellow boxer briefs, and they bulged with his anticipation. Tracing her close-cropped nails over his lower stomach and making him quiver, Katya pulled down Brett’s underwear, allowing his massive, erect cock to spring free, smacking her face in the process. She took a minute to taste the thing, swirling her tongue around the pulsing head and even slipping it into his already oozing slit, but she knew this was not the job he needed most. Carefully, Katya reached up and placed Brett’s impatient cock between her damp heaving tits, sandwiching it like the hotdog buns she was sure the man produced daily. He sang with satisfaction as she began to pump her breasts up and down, allowing the man to find friction against her smooth tanned skin.

“S-so...good.” He stammered, holding onto the countertop for dear life as Katya pumped his appendage. “Are you...an angel?”

“Not at all.” Katya replied, grabbing another breadstick form the tray and discarding the ruined one. “Just a short order fry cook who knows her way around a slab of meat.” 

Brett “Dormouse” Domalta cried out in ecstasy as Katya made eye contact with him, slipping the new, firm breadstick down her throat. It was all too much for him, and Katya knew he was going to cum soon. But, she hadn’t had her long awaited release yet, not since Bob had abandoned her that morning, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let this—let’s face it— short man finish first. Lithely she pulled away from his throbbing penis and stripped off the remainder of her clothes, putting her sculpted yet soft naked body on show for Brett. He clapped gleefully like he was at a parade and fell to his knees, his sticky cock leaving a trail of precum where it dragged over the concrete floor.

“Tell me what you need.” He begged in his thick Southern accent. “I’m desperate to repay you.” Katya smiled. Brett was in exactly the state she needed him in; horny, wrecked, and dying for more. Wagging her finger at him seductively, Katya traced the breadstick around her breasts and down her stomach, stopping when she reached her vagina. There, she slid the tip of the breadstick inside her moistness, positioning it so it rubbed against her engorged clit. With a confident hand she grabbed Brett by the back of his neck and brought him forwards. He opened his mouth and gratefully recieved as she stuffed her bread phallus down his throat, giving him a taste of his own medicine. He gagged and coughed but took it like a champ as Katya rode him, his face becoming beet red with effort and lack of oxygen. She drew back and he sputtered for air, immediately pouncing on her when he had recovered. With strong baker’s hands he shoved the breadstick deeper inside her and Katya gasped, laughing with delight, the sound once light and high now heavy and sultry from years of cigarettes. Soon, the breadstick began to deteriorate in the hostile conditions of Katya’s vagina, and Brett was forced to remove it before a true mess was made.

“Enter me.” Katya commanded, leaning back onto a counter and spreading her exceedingly flexible legs wide. She could feel unbaked dough squish flat under her back as she let the trays take her weight. She used her hands to spread her bouncy ass cheeks, revealing her second tight pink hole. “I want you in me, all the way or not at all.” She breathed as Brett wriggled out of his shoes and lubricated his penis with his spit. “I want to feel your testicals and scrotum slap against my hole. My  _ ass _ hole.” She clarified, rubbing the subject gently with her forefinger.

“Of course, Katya.” Brett panted, inching forewards towards her goal. “Anything to repay you.” He teasingly swiped his cock across her labium and she grinned widely, thankful for the merciful release that was soon to come.

At that moment a sound came from across the room. Brett and Katya jumped to attention as a side door opened and a figure walked in. It was a young woman, blonde and with long legs that seemed to go on forever. She wore a tight white pencil skirt and a frilly pale pink blouse that fit her voluptuous curves expertly. She gasped when she saw what was going on in the room, her heels clicking dramatically to a halt.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting!” The woman apologized, staring in shock at the naked duo.

“No no, it’s quite alright.” Brett said, waving his hands to illustrate it. “Infact, why don’t you come on over. I have someone I’d like you to meet.” The young woman crossed the room, her eyes not on Brett, but affixed squarely to Katya’s naked body. Katya wasn’t embarrassed though, she knew she looked good. 

No. She looked great. 

“Katya, this is my assistant and business liaison, Pearl.” Brett said, introducing the women. “Pearl, this is Katya, the representative from Grill Me Good Diner who’s completing our bun delivery.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Katya said calculatingly. Was this tall, gorgeous baguette up for turning her midday tryst into a menage a trois, or was she going to make the enjoyable midday romp stale and sour? Only time would tell.

“Likewise.” Pearl said, unbuttoning her blouse.

_ So she’s game _ Katya thought to herself.  _ This woman is beautiful, and I still haven’t had the climax I need, nor has Brett. However, I’m on a tight schedule, and if I don’t get those pickles back from Dallas in time the diner could be in serious trouble. _ It was a difficult conundrum the likes of which no one should have to face. Just as Katya was making up her mind to ditch the bread makers and finish herself off as she drove, Pearl finished removing her blouse, and her lack of bra meant her tits were on full display. 

Katya gawked. They were the most perfect pair of tits she had ever seen in real life. Clearly natural, they bounced with youthful elasticity, a perfect match for the crafted breasts that the women always had in the adult films katya would occasionally watch on lonely nights. Her nipples quickley hardening, Pearl toplessley approached Katya, her tight ass swaying as she walked.

There was only one thing to do.

Katya calmly moved towards her apron, and reached for her spatula.

 

COMING SOON:

**CHAPTER THREE: The West Wind’s Wrath**

Katya finally gets something she’s been after all morning, but will the delay seriously damage the task at hand? With a heavy time constraint,a visit to an old friend, and a powerful storm brewing on the horizon, only time will tell.


	3. CHAPTER THREE: The West Wind’s Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates three times a week

**CHAPTER THREE: The West Wind’s Wrath**

 

“What are you gonna do? Spank me?” Pearl said in a teasing voice. Her joke was clearly meant as an invitation, and she bent over, her back arched and her perfect bowed ass facing Katya like a painting. Her breasts hung beneath her, heavy and tender. Brett moved to stand in front of Pearl, and he grinned at Katya as he wound the secretary’s hair around his fist and began to laboriously fuck her throat. She choked and sputtered as the hardened penis slid in and out of her oral cavity.

_ Ameteur. _ Katya laughed to herself.  _ She sounds like a cow with emphysema. It always takes these young ones a while before they truly master the art of oral sex. _ She shrugged, tightened her grip on her spatula, and smacked Pearl squarely on the left asscheek.

“Ooh!” The woman yelped, jumping a bit out of surprise. “That stings, but don’t stop!” Katya wound up and let go another smack. The sound of the metal spatula connecting powerfully with the woman's ass, divided from the skin by nothing but the tight white pleather pencil skirt she wore was almost too much for Katya. Again and again she brought the spatula down on Pearl’s ass, alternating between the right and the left asscheeks, fingering herself durring the process. The whole thing was driving all of them mad.

“Harder!” Pearl shrieked between mouthfuls of cock, arching her back more and thrusting her ass higher and higher into Katya’s face. Brett could not even form words; his eyes had rolled up into his head and he emitted a continuous low rattling moan as he screwed Pearl’s throat, mouth and tonsils raw, his dick shiny and red with lust. Katya let loose a scream as she brought the spatula down a final time, the force so powerful it knocked Pearl to the ground. Brett’s cock slipped out of her mouth and she fell on all fours, panting like an animal.

Gingerly, Katya crouched on the cold floor next to her and began to pull down the woman’s shellacked skirt, revealing a firm ass that was redder than strawberry jam.

“It stings.” The woman whimpered, her searching hands combing lovingly through Katya’s blonde locks. “Thank you so much, you knew exactly what I needed.”

“I could tell by the way you walked that you needed a good ass punishing.” Katya whispered back, returning the woman’s affections. She held her tightly, tasting her bitten lips as Brett, who had scampered off to a supply closet, returned, a large plastic tub in his hands. He set the tub down next to Katya and crouched next to her removing the lid.

“Why Brett,” Katya almost gasped, “is that  _ butter? _ ”

“It sure is.” The man answered. “Help me please, this will get Pearl fixed right up.” He dipped his hand into the tub and brought out a palm full of the butter.

_ What on earth is he going to do with that? _ Katya thought to herself, and watched in amazement as the man started to massage dairy product onto Pearl’s crimson ass.

“Ahhhh, that’s nice.” Pearl moaned, her eyelids fluttering and her elbows buckling. She collapsed fully to the floor, ass high in the air as Brett rubbed the butter onto her ravaged behind. Katya dipped a few fingers into the tub experimentally and and tentatively began to massage the spread all over Pearl’s splendid spheres. 

The butter was so slippery, and soon Katya couldn’t help it: three of her fingers had entered into Pearl’s vagina, and she began to penetrate against the woman’s inner muscles like a battering ram. Seeing Katya’s use of the butter as the path of least resistance, Brett joined in, worming three of his own fingers plus his thumb up inside Pearl to join Katya’s.

“Yes, yes yes.” Pearl clucked, writhing around on the floor as the two handled her. Soon the entire area was slick with butter and the three bodies became intertwined. They laughed, slipping and sliding over each other like greased pigs. 

Suddenly, Katya had an idea. Directing Brett to lay flat on the floor Katya laid across from him, scissoring their slick legs. She scooted up on the buttered floor with difficulty,  so his big, full balls were pressed tightly against her pussy. Then she took her spatula and inserted the metal plate bit between their joined legs so that the handle stuck up straight, snug against Brett’s cock. Dipping her hand into the butter Katya lathered up the spatula handle and Brett’s cock together, jerking them erotically, in tandem.

“Sit.” Katya commanded. Pearl didn’t need to be told twice. Slowly, because of the slippery floor, Pearl lowered her buttery pussy down, accepting both Brett’s cock and Katya’s makeshift dildo past her lips and into her pink oasis. Sticking a greased thumb between her own legs to rub her demanding clit, Katya began to grind her hips, thrusting in swift circular motions. Brett followed suit and soon his dick moved, each thrust an equal and opposite reaction to that of Katya. Together the fry cook and the breadmaker double penetrated the administrative assistant and business liaison like there was no tomorrow. Pearl bounced for all she was worth, sweat plastering her long blonde hair to her shaking tits.

“It’s time.” Brett Domalta said after about twenty minutes, an air of finality tinging his Texan twang, and both he and Katya withdrew. Pearl came down, prostrating herself with open mouth, and Brett’s overworked cock volcanoed. Geysers of hot creamy semen erupted from his rock hard appendage and Pearl guzzled them all, allowing some of the precious liquid to trickle out of her mouth and down her chest, where it proceeded to dribble from the points of her hard nipples and mingle with the butter that covered a good portion of the workroom floor. When Brett was finished he collapsed into the mess, wholly unconscious. 

Pearl rolled over, pinning Katya to the ground and lowered her oily body onto hers. Each of the women stuck a thumb inside the other, and as Pearl massaged Katya’s clit, making small circular motions with her thumb that sent spasms of enjoyment up Katya’s spine, she lowered her head and shared Brett’s load, smacking her lips and blowing sticky white bubbles that popped and splattered Katya’s face, allowing her to lick up the excess of the salty liquid. The women’s heaving breasts glided against each other, and finally, finally, Katya came.

With an indescribable feeling, akin only to the joy of perfectly grilling a piece of meat, Katya felt her vagina contract and tighten around Pearl’s thumb, and felt the same thing happen to Pearl. The women screamed as together they rode the overwhelming waves of their shared orgasm, their bodies plastered together by a mortar of butter and semen. When it was all over, they lay together, Katya in Pearl’s arms, laughing as Brett snored quietly nearby.

 

After a much needed scrub off in the company shower and a quick kiss goodbye, Katya was once again on the road, the container of her big rig stocked with the required buns, and plenty of room left over for the pickles. Normally, once Katya was out of the Waco city limits she would keep on highway 35 and ride it all the way until she had to turn off for Dallas. Today however, she left the familiar highway behind right outside of Waco, making her way to the less traveled highway 45, the road which would connect her to her destination: Fairfield.

Yes, that’s right. Fairfield.

Katya wasn’t just doing her best to stick to a tight schedule out of convenience for the pickle delivery. She was running such a tight ship because  _ she _ had somewhere to be, and if she was going to make it in time to take care of her personal business  _ and _ complete the pickle delivery, she would have to speed a little. 

Pushing down her foot and pushing 90, Katya sped on, making light work of the open Texas rode. The countryside was devastatingly beautiful as it whizzed by outside the truck cabin, and Katya felt a wistful tear well up in the corner of her eye. She blinked and it trickled down her cheek, treading a path across her neck. She wiped it away, a long suppressed memory of violet mountains, of fields golden as honey that yawned and thrived under a cerulean sky, and a small farmhouse… Katya dispelled the memory, letting it drift away in the wind and set her sights back on her job. She was, after all, a modern day working woman, and she wasn’t going to let the long forgotten events of her past cloud her judgement now. Continuing East, Katya pressed on.

As she neared Fairfield the passionate blonde lover shifted in her seat. Something in her apron was poking against her ribs uncomfortably, and she maneuvered the garment off of her, keeping one hand on the wheel. When she finally got the apron off she looked to see what had been irritating her and started with surprise: it was the manilla envelope tied with red twine that Bob had slipped to her earlier that morning. In all the drama and passion of the day Katya had completely forgotten about it. She began to undo the red twine, then stopped herself, remembering Bob’s request that she not open the envelope. Respectfully, Katya set the manila envelope down on the seat next to her, noticing a sticky note stuck to the back as she did. 

“For delivery to TM'S Pickles” the note said, and Katya silently shrugged to herself. She guessed the envelope contained some sort of paperwork renewing Grill Me Good Diners’ yearly contract with TM'S. The higher-ups preferred to hand deliver these types of things, not trusting fax machines or computers that could break down without a moment’s notice. Clearly Bob had wanted this manila envelope hand delivered, and Katya was not about to let her down. She tucked the envelope back into her inner apron pocket as she pulled the semi into the empty parking lot of the Fairfield area’s famous West Wind Lounge.

“Ayyy, KZ! Long time no see!” A powerful voice rumbled across the abandoned lot as Katya half climbed half fell out of the big rig’s driver compartment. “What brings you to town today, baby?”

“My girl!” Katya called delightedly, running into the bulky open arms of her old friend, Wintergreen.

“It’s been too long KZ.” Wintergreen said, hugging Katya so tightly she thought her ribs might crack.

“I know, I know.” Katya said, relaxing into the strong butch embrace. “How are the girls doing?”

“Just like you left them.” Wintergreen said, taking Katya firmly by the hand and leading her towards the building. 

The West Wind Lounge was old. A relic from the days of prohibition, its ownership had passed through many hands, and the once regal now crumbling facade had seen many lives, transforming from a speakeasy to an opium dead to a barbecue joint and everything in between. Currently the Lounge was a high class strip club, and Wintergreen the proud proprietor. Katya had done a stint there in the painful years just after high school. Bumping and grinding with the seedy clientele every night, putting her lithe body on display and making money with nothing but her looks and her flexibility had made Katya feel alive, and though the job hadn’t always been glamorous or safe, she still looked back on her time at the Lounge fondly. Wintergreen had been something of a mother figure to Katya during those years; she’d certainly raised her more than her own mother had. There had been a slew of other dancers working the Lounge when Katya had been there and she was still close with many of them. She made a point of taking up the Journey from Austin to Fairfield at least once a year to visit with the people she considered her pseudo-family, and unintentionally, that day had coincided with today. Katya knew her promotion was important, but she wouldn’t miss her annual Lounge reunion for anything.

The cloud of smoke hit her like a wave as Katya followed Wintergreen’s masculine stride through the blacked out double doors and into the club. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the heavy stench of cigars, gin and body oil that moved through the air like a snake, slithering up Katya’s nostrils and into her brain.

“Nothing’s changed.” Katya said wistfully, taking in the dark green velvet upholstered couches as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Brass poles gleamed dully, their metal continuously being shined by the bodies of the naked women that swung around them at all hours of the day, endlessly performing for the clientele that was bound to show up, no matter the weather.

“We’ve had a slow week,” Wintergreen said, “but I’m sure if  _ you _ wanted to get back up on that stage one more time and give it a whirl we’d start raking in money.”

“That’s a kind offer, but you know those days are behind me.” Katya said, taking a seat at the gruby bar. The bartender poured out a glass of vodka with a mint mixer and slid it down the bar towards her. She deftly caught it, loving the way the ice cubes twinkled against her lips as she took a refreshing sip.

“Yes, everyone has to move on someday.” Wintergreen said, running a hand through the voluminous brown curls that fell from her head and framed her sharp masculine features. Katya had always envied her pronounced jawline, the broad set of her shoulders and able muscular arms that designated her as the kind of butch woman who could take care of any girl, no matter how needy. Now however, her usually stoic eyes were soft, and pleading with Katya’s. “Why not hold that day off a little longer?”

_ I know I’ve still got it in me. _ Katya thought inwardly. “Alright.” She relented, downing the rest of her drink and stripping off her apron. She cast the cloth onto a vacant bar stool and quickly did the same with her white crew neck T shirt and her durable overalls. Excited, and in nothing but her red sports bra and black spandex shorts, Katya hoisted herself on stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a disembodied voice came crackling over the loudspeakers as she sauntered towards her favorite pole, the one in the center that the light couldn’t help but hit perfectly, “We present for your viewing pleasure, for the first time in over a decade the one, the only, Katya Zamolodchikova!” The room broke into applause and Katya grasped the pole firmly, loving the idea that there wasn’t a soul in that room who didn’t know her name. As the thumping rhythm of Thelma Houston’s “Don’t Leave Me This Way” began to course through the shoddy speakers, Katya began to dance.

_ Leg up, hook it around the pole. Now twirl, twirl, twirl. Both legs snaked around that metal, worship it, fuck it, make them think you’re desperate for it. _ The moves flooded back into Katya’s limbs as she executed trick after trick perfectly. One moment she was sliding down the pole upside down, her breasts, compressed by the red sports bra, hugging firmly to either side, the next she was dropping into the splits and fanning her pussy like it truly might burst into flames. 

The audience was going wild, and by Katya’s fourth song had tripled in size. News had spread quickly of the blonde vixen’s return to the stage, and every Jerry and Jane in Fairfield had turned up, not wanting to miss out on the occasion. They cheered and applauded, throwing more tips on the stage then katya would ever know what to do with. In the back of the club Wintergreen roared with glee, slamming her palms together. The audience was enraptured, and now that Katya had them where she wanted them, she knew exactly what she’d do with them.

Signaling Wintergreen with a look that only the other woman would know how to interpret, she watched as the Lounge’s proprietor quickly sauntered over to the bar, then made her way up to the stage. With an approving quirk of her brow, the butch woman reached up her arm and handed Katya the only prop she would ever need: her trusty stainless steel spatula.

“Here we go.” Katya whispered quietly to herself. It was now time for the  _ real _ show to begin.

Hooking the spatula under her upper garment, Katya twisted her wrist and pulled her bra off in one motion, exposing her legendary breasts to the assembled crowd. The crowd whooped, egging her on, though they had no idea what they were in for. Katya left her breasts to their own devices—they were perfectly capable of fending for themselves, each one knew how to capture and command attention better than the other—and used the spatula to work off her spandex shorts, allowing her lower genitals to breathe in the smoky atmosphere. Katya fell back suddenly, popping her legs open at the last second and bending her knees to give the entire room an internal view of her womanhood, which lay, spread out before them, like a buffet.

“Take me to church!” Katya heard a voice cry out.

“You’re a goddess on Earth!” Another one proclaimed. Katya rolled onto her stomach and got to her knees, bending so that her proportional ass greeted the audience as she rose steadily to her feet. She did a cartwheel, holding the spatula between her slightly yellowed chompers and landed against the center pole. Her back fixed firmly to the floor, Katya thrusted upwards and began humping the pole with her vagina so that it became dewey with her juices. When it was good and wet she turned around, nearing the edge of the stage on hands and knees. She allowed the lucky audience members near the edge of the stage to fondle and slap her ass region and vaginal lips as she licked the pole clean.

In a haze of cheap booze and tobacco, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” came blaring over the speakers. It was Katya’s eighth song of the night, and she knew it was time for the grand finale, a showstopper the likes of which she had never attempted before, and would hopefully leave the town talking about for generations to come. Wrapping her left leg firmly around the pole, Katya began to climb. 

She inched her way up the brass rod, popping her ass at optimal moments in time to the beat of the hit song. Her tired breasts, still divinely beautiful in their weary, clung to the brass with sweat, the flaccid nipples sticking to the metal like a tongue to a frozen swingset in winter. Katya grinned triumphantly as she summited the beam, hugging the top soundly with her muscular thighs. It was now or never.

Provokingly, Katya removed the spatula from her mouth and grasped it stiffly at either end, making sure she had good purchase. She lowered her arm hoop down over the top of the pole and leaned back, her mind prickling at the way the sharp metal of the spatula dug into her skin and shrieked where it touched the brass. The moment had come. Katya tightened her vagina, spread her legs wide, and let herself fall.

Round and round and round she went, spiraling down the pole at lightning speed. Her legs spread and her body on show for the entire club, Katya fell in a blaze of heavenly glory, a true rain of fire, for her weight was supported by her spatula, and wherever the reflective stainless steel of the instrument bit into the polished brass of the stripper pole sparks flew, accompanied by the shearing sound of metal on metal.

Like fireworks the sparks erupted outwards, highlighting Katya’s downwards trajectory as she corkscrewed back to Earth. It was an unbelievable sight to behold, and the spectacle was so much for some customers that they fainted at the scene. Her feet finally planted solidly on the ground, Katya waved to her adoring fans, drinking in the applause that were meant for her and only her.

 

Later, after she had exited the stage to a standing ovation that had seemed to last for hours, Katya relaxed in the changing room of the Lounge, kicking back and sharing a cocktail with a few of the girls. Many of the girls were strangers to her, but three of them were her close friends from her days of working the club: a dark haired sultry beauty named Raven, a talented and big chested minx who called herself Jessica Wilde, and a delectable, shapley girl named Eureka. Katya had known these women for years, and it was always nice to catch up with them. Katya was in the middle of describing how she had pulled off her fiery plunge on the pole to the gaggle of girls when she was interrupted; sirens began to sound faintly in the distance.

“What is that?” Katya asked, peering around the room to see if any of the other girls were hearing the offending sound, or if it was all in her head.

“Just the storm sirens.” Raven croaked. “It’s the first Tuesday of the month.”

“Storm sirens sound on the first  _ Wednesday _ of every month you dumb bitch!” Jessica giggled, spilling her drink all over herself with the action.

“Yeah, and it’s Friday!”Eureka cackled, the rest of the girls joining in. Soon the entire group had been reduced to tears, one girl laughing so hard she collapsed to the floor.

“Alright, well those are still  _ definitely _ storm sirens.” Raven said defensively. She took a long sip from her drink, rolling her eyes in disdain. “I’d know the sound anywhere. Growing up in Tornado Alley you get used to it.”

“It’s probably just a little rain, don’t get so high and mighty.” Eureka fired back. Her head shook so much when she talked that one of her delicately placed braids came loose from its bundle and fell down her back.

“This has been wonderful, girls,” Katya said, taking the interruption as a sign to get moving, “but I really should be on my way.” After all, she had a schedule to stick to and an entire order of brine-soaked cucumbers to pick up and bring back. The girls followed her out of the back room and back into the main lobby of the West Wind Lounge, where Katya sourced her clothes and hastily dressed.

“I’m sorry to see you go so soon.” Wintergreen said, emerging from behind the bar to give Katya a lasting nicotine flavored kiss. “And I really do appreciate everything you did for me tonight. You’re so selfless, but do you have to leave so soon?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Katya said, already heading for the door. “I don’t want to get caught up in anything.”

“Caught up in anything?”

“Didn’t you hear the sirens, Wintergreen?” Raven choked out in dismay. “A storm is coming.”

“Girls, I don’t know how to break this to you,” Wintergreen growled back, her large hands stuffing tips that had been collected from the stage hurriedly into the cash box, “but the storm’s already here.” 

These were the last words Katya heard as she let the blacked out double doors of the Lounge swing shut behind her and marched into the icy vortex of rain that threatened to drown not only the Fairfield Texas area, but the entire world.

 

COMING SOON:

**CHAPTER FOUR: No Room At The Inn**

The storm is mounting, and the dangerous weather is threatening to force Katya farther and farther off schedule. When unforeseen events arise, Katya fears her new job might be over for good, but will a somewhat odd innkeeper manage to turn her bad mood around?


	4. CHAPTER FOUR: No Room At The Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates three times a week

**CHAPTER FOUR: No Room At The Inn**

 

The rain crashed like a tsunami, pelting against the side of the big rig with insurmountable vigor, as Katya piloted her semi truck down the quickly flooding tarmac pass of Texas interstate highway 45.

“Goddamnit.” She swore to herself, maneuvering the red chrome projectile around a person-sized pothole as the steely rain came hurling down from the heavens. She silently prayed her truck bed was waterproof; if any moisture got into the compartment, even the smallest drop, it had the potential to completely ruin her precious yeasty cargo. “Hold on for me.” Katya breathed, blowing through Corsicana on her way to Dallas. “Just a little bit longer.”

Suddenly, with a noise like the screams of Satan himself, Katya felt the well-traveled big rig lurch. The truck spun, skidding on the slick pavement of the highway. It had hit a pothole, and the beautiful lacquered red chrome bumper had caught on the dented gravel, tearing completely away with the truck’s velocity. The twisted, abused metal kicked up chunks of the highway as it tore, sending a fist sized concrete rock up into the air. It came like a meteor, crashing through Katya’s windshield with an ear splintering ruckus, and struck her forcefully on the shoulder. She screamed in agony, throwing her hands up and emulating Carrie Underwood’s hit song “Jesus Take The Wheel.”

Katya’s mind went to the boxes of rolls currently nestled in the back of her semi as the monstrous automobile careened aimlessly down the drenched highway; anything could be happening to them, they could be destroyed by now for all she knew.

_ This must be how Jackie O felt on that fateful November day in 1963 _ she internally cried to herself. The world was a wet nightmare, and Katya but a measly passenger on the horrible journey, her destiny seemingly locked tight in Death’s icy grip.

Mercifully, the truck slowed. Giving a final groan of defeat the big rig hydroplaned gently to a stable stop, breathing its dying breath right at the foot of a quaint bed and breakfast. Katya stumbled from the broken machine and half limped half crawled towards the neon light that was a blinking sign, the word “INN” lit up in red and yellow on the front.

 

“Miss, miss calm down!” A thin serpentine woman chided as she emerged from a door behind the speckled wooden counter. Katya had been ringing the little silver bell that sat on the counter nonstop for the past minute, and finally someone had responded.

“Please, I need help.” Katya breathed, her heartbeat finally returning to normal as the adrenaline left her body and she began to come down from the ordeal. “I’ve had an accident and I need somewhere to rest, maybe stay the night. Also my good for nothing phone is dead and I need to use yours to call for a mechanic.”

“The phone is alright,” The woman relented, “but I’m afraid there are no vacancies at the moment: we’re booked solid for weeks!” She gave a cold look at Katya, taking her battered figure in while the recently promoted blonde did the same to her. The woman looked young, smooth pale skin with an attractive beauty mark on the cheek and a thin, sizable body to match, but her appearance as a whole was aged drastically by the shock of wavy gray hair that sprouted from her head and was swept elegantly up at the nape of her neck in a delicate chignon. Her clothes didn’t help either- she wore a black and white stuffy maid’s uniform (not at all like the French ones Katya always found herself being slightly aroused by) and on her feet were a pair of dirty pea-green oversized men’s galoshes, tied tightly at the calf with pink silk ribbon. Pinned to her drabby collar was a name tag bearing the nom de plume “Max.”

“You don’t understand, I’m desperate.” Katya pleaded, hoping to appeal to the other woman’s moral compass. “Can’t you look again?”

“I suppose.” Max sighed, tapping away at her desk computer’s keyboard. Her eyes widened with surprise. “Well what do you know.” She said in earnest shock. “There was an early checkout this morning and we  _ do _ have one room available.”

“I’ll take it!” Katya exclaimed. She grabbed her wallet out of her left overall pocket and produced her brand new semi truck certified driver’s license as a valid form of photo ID authentication. Max took it, pinching it gingerly between her forefingers.

“No offense meant, Miss ‘Katya Zamo-low-chick-oova’” She said, dragging the name out reproachfully, “but do you have the funds with you to pay for this room?” Katya silently cursed herself, her credit card had been canceled last month after she drunkenly purchased too many nesting dolls online, and the only paper money she had with her was a five dollar bill.

“Do you barter for cigarettes?” Katya asked, only half joking. Max was not amused.

“I’m afraid we can’t check you into a room if you can’t afford it.” She said, sliding Katya’s license back to her with a pen. Upset, Katya reached for her spatula, hoping the familiar item would bring her comfort. Max’s eyebrows shot directly up to the top of her forehead and her lower lip began to quiver. “That spatula,” she said, her eyes darting excitedly towards the conductive metal plate, “are you by any chance a short order fry cook?”

“Actually, I am!” Katya said, thoroughly confused, but interested in the way the prim and proper woman seemed so enthralled with the notion.

“Then I propose a deal.” Max said, finally allowing her facial muscles to pull her mouth into the shape of a smile. “Our chef had to go home sick. You cook for us here at the inn tonight, and I’ll give you a room in exchange. Deal?”

“Deal. Definitely deal.” Katya felt a weight lift off her chest. “Can I wash up first?”

“Of course, let me show you to your room.” Max led Katya into the quaint foyer of the inn and up a winding set of creaky stairs, finished with polished oak banisters on either side. The walls were hung with pictures, most of them showing depictions of cats and other various furry animals. Katya found herself thinking how stuffy it all felt, and reprovingly pushed the thought from her mind. Max was doing her a great service after all.

“This will be your room.” Max said as the pair arrived at the end of a long hallway. She aggressively pushed the small wooden door open, pushing hard because it caught on the tan shag carpeting. The room was rather tiny, furnished only by a bed, a nightstand and a chest of drawers, all of which looked worse for wear. A flickering, tarnished floor length lamp stood in the empty corner of the room. Katya popped her boots off and collapsed into the bed, relishing in the cushioness of the scratchy, mothball-scented yellow blanket. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling all her injuries and worries slip away...a hand landed on her upper thigh. Katya opened her eyes. Max was now seated on the bed next to her, and she stared at her intently, not removing the placid hand she had placed on the golden-haired beauty.

“You know, Katya.” Max said, leisurely beginning to stroke up and down katya’s right thigh with quick, jerky movements. “I’ve had all kinds of guests at the inn, people from every walk of life. I’ve had butchers, bakers, even candlestick makers, but,” she paused stroking and grasped Katya’s thigh hard, painfully puckering the woman’s flesh between her fingers, “I’ve never had a short order fry cook.”

_ Oh fucking Hell. _ Katya thought to herself.  _ She’s a fucking sitophile! How mundane. _ But she began to pull away from the woman, routinely rising from the bed. Max stared at her in confusion.

“If I wasn’t clear,” she sputtered urgently, “when I said ‘I’ve had all kinds of guests’ what I meant was that I’ve engaged in intercourse with them. I want to engage in intercourse with you, Katya.”

“Yes, I got that.” Katya said boredly. “And we will have intercourse- just not here, and not how you think. Just give me a moment.” With that said, Katya entered the en suite bathroom and hastily scrubbed the dried blood from her face and upper neck region, taking care not to reopen the wounds she had sustained from the accident. She had known what Max wanted from her the moment she had laid eyes on the prudishly dressed woman, but discovering her sitophilia opened up a whole new can of worms, or rather, cranberries. If she was going to sleep with the woman, she had to do it right. Wiping her face on a somewhat crusty towel, Katya exited the bathroom and led the still confused woman back down the flight of stairs and into the melancholy inn’s cramped kitchen.

“This is a very well stocked kitchen you’ve got here, Max.” Katya said, cranking the grill top up as hot as it would go and sliding her spatula out of her lower center apron pocket. She rummaged through the grimy refrigerator and sourced a pound and a quarter of only slightly old hamburger meat, and a carton of large brown eggs.

“Only the best for our customers.” The other woman blurted out. She was frantically tugging at her collar and fanning her face, her eyes fixed on the food being held in Katya’s expert hands. “I don’t mean to pry, but-but-but,” Max stammered, shaking in her tightly tied boots, “are you... _ cooking?” _

“Adam and Eve.” Katya said bluntly, her diner lingo referencing the eggs she carefully cracked into a cast iron skillet. They sizzled with the immense heat. “On a raft.” She said, popping two thick and hearty slices of whole grain wheat bread into the toaster and pushing the lever down. The smell of the cooking bread immediately filled the room and Max began wildly pawing at her nether region, moaning inconsistently at full volume. “And wreck ‘em.” Katya finally added, slamming down her fork and furiously whisking the eggs to scramble them where they sat.

“Yes!” Max screamed, hiking up her dress around her knees and revealing her sopping pussy. With frantic hands she began to slap her wet sticky mound, cooing like a dove in time with Katya’s stirring rhythm.

_ The bitch wasn’t wearing any underwear! _ Katya exclaimed mentally.  _ So much for her being a prudish dresser. _ With a sly wink, Katya plated up the food, seasoning the scramble with the perfect amount of salt and pepper before nesting it gently on top of the golden toast, and passed the first course to Max.

“By Osiris’s crook!” Max screamed, sinking her teeth into the diner delicacy which she fed to herself one-handed, as her other hand was still preoccupied with her manic female masturbation. “This is the best food I’ve ever tasted!”

“Just you wait.” Katya said. “I’m only getting warmed up.” In a dazzling sizzle of grease and moisture, Katya used her spatula to fling a scoop of butter into the now empty cast iron skillet pan. The smell of it as it melted penetrated the women’s nostrils, and Katya smiled, fondly remembering her time spent with Pearl and Dormouse earlier that day. Next, Katya dumped the bloody pound and a quarter of ground hamburger meat product into a large glass bowl and gently broke it apart with her fingers. The sight of Katya’s long tobacco stained fingers probing delicately in the raw pink meat was almost too much for Max, and she cried out, almost as if in pain.

“Are you going to burn one, take it through the garden and pin a rose on it?” Max whimpered, all four of her free fingers knuckle deep in her vaginal cavity.

“Yes,” Katya said, “but it won’t just be a hamburger with onion lettuce and tomato, as you’ve asked, because I’m going to put a little spin on it. My own signature spin.”

“The mystery!” Max sang, inching closer to Katya as she noisely smacked down the remnants of the egg and toast. Skillfully, Katya began to massage minced shallots and an egg into the meat. She also added some Bronx vanilla, or “garlic” as non-diner folk  would call it. As she added her final ingredient to the mix, a spicy korean chili paste called gochujang, she slipped off her sock and bent over slightly, lifting her hind leg. Max understood what Katya meant to do immediately and quickly ran forward, grasping her dress high to allow Katya to insert her big toe into her needy vagina. Carefully, as she was balancing on one foot and manning a kitchen, Katya began to massage Max’s clit with her surprisingly pedicured toe.

“I call this one Katya’s Orgasmic Onion Burger” Katya said, emitting a low whistle as she spatula’d one of the now-formed burgers onto the spitting grill. It hissed audibly and Max gasped, clamping her pussy muscles tighter and tighter around Katya’s little piggy.

The air was thick with the smell of umami and as Katya foot-fucked Max she took a moment to silently congratulated herself on a job well done. After all, it wasn’t everyday she cooked a perfectly seasoned burger while her big toe wormed it’s way up someone.

“Katya, Katya, Katya.” Max panted, riding Kata’s foot as much as her balance would allow. “My pussy is getting so hot.”

“Hopefully not too hot,” Katya joked “or it might end up cooking faster than this burger!”

“I think it’s too late for that.” Max whispered. She was about to cum, but Katya couldn’t allow that yet, not while she had so many plates still in the air, so she yanked her foot down, sending Max careening backwards, the gray haired woman landing spread eagle in a rusty metal chair.

“Your pussy shouldn’t be baked yet.” Katya said, sliding open a crooked drawer and pulling out a shiny metal utensil. It was a thermometer, the kind meant for food, and Katya made her way over to wear Max sat, legs spread and panting on the other side of the small kitchen. “Still, we should check.” Katya said, inserting the meat thermometer deep into Max’s boiling vagina.

“Eeyah!” Max cried, biting her lower lip to keep any other protestations of pleasure clenched deep inside.

“Just as I thought.” Katya said, reading the number off the thermometer before removing it. “You’re not done yet. But this burger is.” Katya inserted the now moistened metal probe into the crusty burger and smiled- a perfect internal temperature! Just the sort of thing a well practiced fry cook would know to look for; you can’t go around serving undercooked meat to customers. On top of being a health risk, it’s just plain stupid!

“Can I eat it yet?” Max said, eyeing the burger hungrily, her appetite still building and seemingly insatiable.

“Almost.” Katya said. “It needs one more ingredient first.” Katya rummaged through Max's shelves, praying the woman had stocked the one thing she needed most to complete her signature recipe. Finally, she found it, hidden way in the back of the upper left hand refrigerated cupboard, the one with the bent handle. Katya pulled out the container of precious precious Korall.

“What  _ is _ that?” Max asked in wonder, inexplicably oblivious to the identity of the succulent parcel.

_ Stupid girl. _ Katya thought.  _ She’s got some of the best stuff on Earth and doesn’t even know what it is. _ “It’s Korall.” Katya said, cracking open the lid and inhaling deeply. The briny scent ashed over her for a wave and for a moment she was thrown back into memories of her childhood, the happy times in the Connecticut house, the happy times before her mother had gone and ruined everything, the happy times like the times at the farmhouse… Katya shook away the memories and turned to face Max. “Korall is a Russian delicacy.” She said authoritatively, dipping the corner of her spatula into the container. “It’s a shrimp flavored cheese spread, an innovative and delectable dish from the bygone era of the Soviet Union. There exists nothing else in the universe quite like it.” She finished scraping out a dollop of the tasty paste and artfully spread it all over the still warm burger, which she then popped onto a bun and topped with lettuce, tomato and onion. She didn’t bother with a plate this time, bringing the burger over to Max in nothing but her own two hands. She watched in surprise as max made no move to take the burger, instead she bent forwards and began eating it right out of Katya’s hands.

“It’s like I’m tasting for the very first time.” Max sobbed, the incomparable flavor of the burger bringing real human tears to her eyes.

“Take the burger.” Katya commanded, thrusting the sandwich into the weeping woman’s grip. “I want to devour  _ you  _ while you devour  _ it _ .” With that she squatted and began eating Max’s vagina. Katya smacked her teeth, angrily chewing Max’s vulva with as much vigor as the deranged woman was giving to the onion burger. She spat and sucked, slipping her tongue in and out of Max’s clitoral hood, treating the pleasure-center with care and poise while her hands went apeshit on Max’s tits. She honked the slightly saggy pair of breasts half heartedly, her ears full of the sound of Max’s savage chewing. 

Katya knew she herself was close to orgasm, but the night was still young, and there was still one more course to be served. Not entirely distressed, Katya got to her feet and began to quickly undress. 

Off went the apron, then the cook’s cap. The overalls followed, then the black spandex shorts and then the red sports bra, and with it, the illusion that her breasts were at all normal sized. Without the tight material holding them back they sprang free careening out to their full potential. Next, Katya removed her remaining sock, then she put back on her white cook’s cap, and re tied her apron around her naked waist and neck. Katya turned back towards the counter, giving Max a full view of her luscious ass, and the small letter “G” that was tattooed just above it, like a tramp stamp.

“This course is interactive.” Katya said almost shyly as she reached into the deep chill blast freezer and removed a tub of pistachio ice cream. She was nervous being completely naked in front of Max, and didn’t want the other woman to think she was being too forward. Still, she did what she had to do. “Kneel behind me.” Katya ordered, opening the ice cream and scooping out a bit with a silver spoon. The ice cream immediately started to melt the moment it touched the warm, sex-charged air.

“Put a hat on it.” Max grunted the diner lingo, spreading Katya’s cheeks to reveal her puckered asshole. Katya placed the small bit of liquifying cream at the top of her ass, and let it melt and run down her crack, right into Max’s waiting mouth. As the serpentine woman licked her clean, Katya set about placing larger scoops of the frozen dessert into an ornate chinese jade bowl that dated back to the twelfth century. She topped this with an amount of finely chopped Swiss chocolate, and finally drizzled the whole thing in golden, locally sourced wildflower honey.

“Order up.” Katya said, turning around bowl in hand. However, to her surprise, Max grabbed not for the ice cream toting precious heirloom, but for the squeezy bottle of honey still in Katya’s hand. Upsettingly and with reckless abandon, Max began to pour the honey all over her lowley vagina. Oozing like magma it flowed, thick and coagulated all over Max’s pussy, distressingly matting the woman’s thin patch of silver pubic hair. Katya thought she’d better clean it up, and fast, before it got any worse. Clearly the mad woman was unable to stop herself, and she would have to intervene. Katya got down on her hands and knees and licked Max clean. Then she turned around and while Max ate the ice cream dessert course with one hand, let the woman fuck her with the other. Using Katya’s own spatula Max railed her, stirring up her insides like soup. Katya moaned and humped the spatula handle while her enormous breasts dangled, her super hard nipples scraping the wooden floor. Suddenly, and without any warning, the comely spatula was yanked out of the folds of Katya’s vagina and shoved, handle deep, into her asshole. Katya yelped in her low smoker's voice at the sudden change in climate, but adjusted accordingly and almost immediately.

As Max laughed manically, spooning chilled dairy sweetness into her gullet and aggressively penetrating Katya’s really, really clean colon, Katya experienced not just her second, not just her third, not even just her fourth, but up to her fifth orgasm of the day, each one more bittersweet and poignant than the last, for Katya knew this loving beration of her anus could not last.

_ All good things must come to an end. _ Katya thought as she rode the spatula handle into euphoric infinity.  _ So let them cum. Let them cum. _

 

Hours later, as the gibbous moon waxed outside her window, Katya lay, snuggled up in bed and safe in the knowledge that Max had called a repairman, and that her big rig was being serviced and fixed to repair at that very moment. Sure, this devastating setback had cost her wildly in the time management area, but by morning she knew she’d back on the open road and back on schedule. Each breath would bring her closer to the pickle delivery, and closer still, to home. Katya closed her eyes and let dreams of sugarplums take her.

At least, she thought comically, she didn’t have to fuck  _ these _ .

 

 

BONUS CONTENT: Make Katya’s Orgasmic Onion Burgers at home!

 

For this recipe you will need:

1.25 lb of lean ground beef

1 large egg

4 shallots, minced

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 tablespoons gochujang

1 tablespoon Korall

1 red onion, cut in rings

1 beefsteak tomato

Iceberg lettuce

Salt

Pepper

Sesame buns

 

Directions:

Preheat your grill to medium high heat (somewhere between the burning flames of Katya’s sparking pole trick and the cold attitude of the climax-abandoning Bob), and melt some butter in a pan for frying

In a large bowl beat together the egg, garlic, gochujang, and shallots. Gently add in the beef until well combined and as sticky as Max’s bee-puke vagina. Add in pepper and salt as you go, to taste. Form the mixture into burger sized patties and grill, about 6-8 minutes on each side or until a safe internal temperature is reached (you can check this by inserting a meat thermometer deep into the flesh of the burger.) In the meantime, fry the onions until soft and caramelized (or leave raw and carnal if desired.) Brush either side of your sesame buns with butter and broil for a minute, until golden brown. Slice the beefsteak tomato into quarter inch slices, and tear the lettuce apart forcefully.

 

Assembling:

Top the bottom bun with a few pieces of cool lettuce, then, use your trusty spatula to rest one of the steaming burgers on top. Smear the burger with the Korall so that it melts into the meat, and sandwich the spread with a slice or two of the beefsteak tomato. Finally, add those sharp flavorful onions and finish off with the top bun. Enjoy fully clothed, partially clothed, or completely naked, as you desire.

 

COMING SOON:

**CHAPTER FIVE: Larger Than Life; The Tim Creekman Story, Or, How Katya Learns To Let Herself Take More Than She Is Able To Give, And Do It Pleasurably**

Somewhere, in a high mountain pass, a woman looks back on the mistakes she’s made. Somewhere closer, our unshakable heroin goes into double time trying to get her life and career back on schedule.


	5. CHAPTER FIVE: Larger Than Life; The Tim Creekman Story, Or, How Katya Learns To Let Herself Take More Than She Is Able To Give, And Do It Pleasurably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates three times a week

 

**CHAPTER FIVE: Larger Than Life; The Tim Creekman Story, Or, How Katya Learns To Let Herself Take More Than She Is Able To Give, And Do It Pleasurably**

 

 

**Switzerland, Mont Blanc massif, 4,000 meters above sea level.**

The air was chilled and calm as the crisp notes of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata”  came on the breeze, flowing out of the open window of the semi-lit Castle Val Ferret. The birds took no notice of the music, instead matching their songs perfectly to the melodious chimes of the sonata as the witching hour fell about the valley. 

The castle was stone, and not ashamed of it. Rising erect into the night sky it was a beacon in the treeless valley, a sign of civilization, cold and imposing, not unlike the woman that resided within it’s hand-crafted walls.

“Violet, come here.” A voice like a crystal bell rang out, perfect but devoid of emotion. “I need to talk with you.”

“I’m here, Mistress.” A timid voice responded, as the thin waife known simply as Violet Chachki nervously entered the Castle Val Ferret’s grand ballroom. Her black stiletto heels, part of her uniform of course, click-clacked awkwardly as she made her way across the polished marble floor and toward the statuesque woman who sat, her fingers fluttering like gossamer as she played the final notes of the Beethoven song on her black full sized piano. When the tune was finished Violet dared not speak, waiting for what felt like a lifetime in the silence as she shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot, and played with her shiny black hair, which she kept coiffed in a fashionable bob. Finally, the pianist broke the truce. 

“I’m sure the servants have been gossiping about my recent decision, haven’t they.” The woman said, intoning the the words as a statement rather than a question.

“They have, Mistress.” Violet said weakly. She did not want to admit it, but she dared not lie. Her Mistress could always tell when she was lying.

“I see.” The still-sitting woman said, tapping her tongue thoughtfully on the roof of her mouth. She was a rather short person, and sitting next to Violet’s tall figure she looked absurdly small. Still, the woman oozed power, a stoney and bone-chilling aura seemed to radiate off of her and everyone knew it.

_ This is not the kind of woman who enters a room unnoticed. _ Violet had thought to herself on more than one occasion. She had jumped at the chance to be under the woman’s employment when the job position had become available to her, and five years on she did not regret it. However, she lived in fear, knowing that her Mistress’ wrath must fall somewhere, and knowing it could possibly fall on her, any day now.

“What are they saying about me?” The woman asked, nonchalantly batting her eyelashes. She looked ravishing tonight, a figure in velvet. The woman wore a floor length velvet gown that clung tightly to her body, revealing a delicious amount of shoulder and cleavage. There was a matching pair of velvet gloves pulled up to her elbows, the color of the fabric a dusty lavender, just like the dress. The subdued garment complemented the woman’s deeply tanned skin which was smooth and unblemished, even on her breasts, a surprising feature for her not so youthful age. Tonight she was wearing her short chestnut brown hair in little spit curls and finger waves, styled excellently all over her head in a 1920’s fashion. Her smoky eyes glimmered out of her face, shining almost as brightly as the heavy diamond earrings and necklace she wore, the latter of which ended in an enormous amethyst crystal that hung, nestled cooley between her cloaked breasts. The piece de resistance was the heavy application of dark black lipstick that highlighted the woman’s perfect lips and framed her mouth with intrigue.

“They’re saying you’ve gone too far this time.” Violet responded. “That you’re losing sight of what really matters.” She clenched and unclenched her white-knuckled hands at her sides, saying a silent prayer her admissions wouldn’t get her into trouble.

“Do you agree with them?” The woman asked. She began to lightly run a gloved finger up and down Violet’s bare thigh. The servant shivered at the sensation; there was no feeling quite like that of velvet on skin.

“I do.” She said finally, thinking honesty would be the best policy. In a flash the woman stood up and had Violet by the ass. Bending her over the piano so that her extremely tight black cocktail dress rode up at the tops of her thighs, the woman gave Violet’s ass a sharp smack with the back of her hand. The pale white flesh jiggled and Violet sucked in air as she received a second smack.

“I’ll show you I know what really matters.” Violet’s Mistress roared, violently ripping Violet’s dress in two with her surprisingly powerful petite hands. Violet was now completely naked except for her black stilettos and bowtie (another part of her uniform), and she flushed brightly with embarrassment, but didn’t move to cover up. Her contract had been very clear when she’d accepted the job, and she wanted this as much as her Mistress did. With slightly more confidence than when she had entered, she looked at the piano and moved towards the beautiful instrument. 

Violet sat down on the keys and the piano cried out as it received her poundage, the sound jostled and not smooth like the pianist’s graceful playing. The woman could play all sorts of classical music with those talented fingers, those very same thin fingers that were now rubbing Violet’s exposed clit with enthusiasm.

“That’s wonderful, Mistress.” Violet said, oohing and aahing as her employer massaged her G-spot with one hand and fondled her small patch of heart-shaped silky black pubic hair with the other. The piano rang out anytime Violet shifted her weight, but her Mistress kept at it, and soon the woman went down on her, smearing Violet’s vagina with her dark black lipstick until it was glossy and shellacked, like licorice.

“Do you need it, Servant?” The woman whispered when her tongue wasn’t preoccupied. “Tell me how badly you need it.”

“So badly.” Violet hummed. “I need it like I’ve never needed anything before, and only you can give it to me.” As she said this she lifted her long waxed porcelain legs, and put them around her Mistress’ neck, pulling the woman’s head and face deeper and deeper into her vagina. As the mature woman’s tongue competently brought her to climax, Violet thought of not only how much she feared and loved her Mistress, but how great it was going to be to get to know the terrifying woman a little better in the near future. After all, Violet had, at her employer’s request, just purchased two airfare tickets for the woman and herself that morning. 

Two tickets for first class seats.

Two tickets for a quickly approaching flight.

Two tickets for America.

Two tickets for Austin, Texas.

  
  


_ I am going straight to Hell in a handbasket. _ Katya thought to herself as she beelined down interstate highway 45 in her previously damaged, newly repaired red chrome big rig semi truck. The skies were clear, the oversized stagnant puddles that would become breeding grounds for the mayflies come warmer weather the only remnant of the monster storm that had passed over the towns the night before, and Katya was feeling rushed, but good. The solid night of sleep had healed her injuries and reset the frazzled fry cook’s mind on her task: getting down to TM’s Pickles and back again before it was too late. Sure, her accident had put her about a day off schedule, buy Katya was more focused now than ever, and she knew that if she kept this mindset up she’d be there and back again in no time. Infact, Katya was closer than she’d thought, and she realized this just as her gargantuan automobile zipped past the bright and cheery sign proclaiming “WELCOME! TO DALLAS, TEXAS!”

Cranking the 60’s rock radio station all the way up, Katya joyously bulleted towards the city center. Her buns and bread cargo had thankfully survived the previous day’s accident, and Katya felt her heart warm to know that they would soon be joined by the pivotal pickles, and then into customer’s mouths and stomachs they would go. Spreading joy was Katya’s business. Well, spreading joy  _ and _ legs.

These thoughts echoed contentedly in Katya’s skull as she carefully pulled her truck through the ornate fifteen foot high silver gates of TM's Pickle’s Central Texas Factory and Headquarters.

“ _ Damn, _ they must make a lot of money here.” Katya wisteled, admiring the gold and silver statues that ringed the gargantuan brick building like a mote. They were bespoke realizations of all the important Texan figures throughout history, perfect metallic representations of recognizable personalities like pioneer historian Gideon Lincecum and legislature house member William H. Bledsoe. Katya had to admit, she was impressed. Still, there was something odd about the building.

Katya put her truck into park and said aloud the thought she had been thinking as she surveyed the ornate headquarters: “Where is everybody?” Katya had assumed that when she’d finally pulled up to the pickle factory there would have been throngs of employees, all lined up holding a box of the precious delicacy, clamoring for a chance to bestow their load into the chilled bed of Katya’s truck. However, the outer grounds of the establishment were completely abandoned, a virtual wasteland devoid of life. “Something’s not right.” Katya whispered to a gleaming statue of Miss America 1975 winner Shirley Cothran as she passed it and pushed her way through the revolving front door of TM's Pickles.

Within the confines of the brick building the main lobby sat pristine, cleaned to perfection but utterly silent. No one bustled about, offering free samples of the new jalapeno bacon pickle or the like. No one lounged in the plush leather chairs, legs crossed and eagerly awaiting an appointment. No one so much as manned the front desk. In the center of the room stood a tall structure, not unlike a street sign that had markers pointing off in different directions, down offshooting hallways that snaked into the main lobby like arteries into a heart. Katya picked the one that said “Pickle Distribution Center Road” and followed it, letting the wooden floors guide her East, deeper into the factory.

The eerie sound of her own footsteps echoed ominously as Katya trudged her way down the hall, her sturdy work boots leaving slight footprints of mud as she went. The air inside the building was on the colder side, and Katya hugged her apron close, wishing her overalls came with sleeves, or at the very least, a vest. Suddenly, fainter than the sound of a pin dropping five miles away, Katya heard a voice.

“Help!” A tiny cry came from somewhere down the hall, and Katya immediately increased her speed, setting off running for the source of the noise. “Help! Help!” The voice grew louder now, and Katya decided it belonged to a man. She was getting closer.

“Where are you?” Katya wondered aloud, turning in circles in the deserted corridor.

“Here!” The voice came again. “In the men’s bathroom!” Katya turned and looked. Sure enough, there was a large metal door built into the side of the corridor, the familiar image of the men’s bathroom sign painted on it. With a confident hand, Katya pushed the door open and marched in, ready to help whatever poor soul had been so desperately calling her. 

At first the room, like the rest of the building, appeared empty, but then Katya saw two pairs of brown dress shoes stood inside the farthest stall from the door. “Is someone there?” The man asked, his visible feet shifting nervously.

“I am.” Katya said. “I heard you calling and I’m here to help. What seems to be the problem?” Katya asked.

“I was having a little fun, putting me willy in a toilet paper tube to take pictures ‘nd send to the boys, but suddenly me pecker got harder than the GCSE’s and now I can’t get the roll off!” The man answered, his tone anxious but also recognizing of the absurdity of the ordeal.

_ Men. _ Katya thought to herself, rolling her eyes at the immature situation. “Can’t you just de-rection yourself and slither the thing out?” Katya asked, betting the frightened gent had overlooked the simple possibility in his haste to find help.

“That’s the problem.” The man called back. “I think me friends must have slipped something into me lunch, and now I’m hard as a rock and can’t get free!”

“Ah, the ol’ Viagra-in-the-milk trick.” Katya smiled sagely. “I know it well. Why don’t you come on out and let me have a looksey. Don’t worry, I’m sure I can fix you up.” With that, the stall door swung open and the man stepped out bashfully. 

Katya’s jaw smashed onto the bathroom floor; the man had the biggest and most erect cock she had  _ ever _ seen.

The thing was huge, at least fourteen inches long and extremely girthy to match. The penis’s red swollen head shone with sweat and pulsed with blood, bobbing up and down with excitement. Katya grabbed the phallus to steady it, and saw the problem immediately. Just as described, a ring of toilet paper was lodged tightly around the man’s cock, choking the poor creature. Of course, the appendage was so large the cardboard tube looked no bigger than a wedding ring, but still, Katya imagined it hurt.

“I have an idea.” Katya said, lowering herself to her knees. With slightly out of practice technique, Katya unhinged her jaw and sucked the man’s problem penis into her gullet, not stopping until she reached the cardboard tube that had become a Chinese finger trap prison, taking the fellow’s full fourteen inches down her esophagus. She sputtered ad gagged but did not move as her salivary glands went into overtime, wetting her mouth, and by proxy the man’s dick, to the point of pruning. Finally Katya pulled away, gulping down some fresh air and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Now it’s ready.” Katya said, admiring her handy work as she gave the man’s slimy cock a thunderous slap.

Using her spatula as a tension torque, Katya was able to work the toilet paper roll loose over the man’s sticky skin, and together with the man’s added strength, the cardboard cylinder finally popped off with an audible gasp of suction.

“That’s quite a device you’ve got there, lass.” The man said as Katya slid her spatula back into the specific apron pocket she kept it in. He rubbed his cock gratefully, massaging away the white spots of stress left by the tube.

“I know, it’s served me well.” Katya said fondly, extending a hand to the man. “I’m Katya by the way.” She said, pumping his steely grip.

“Nice to meet you Katya.” He said, grinning widely and pronouncing her name like “Kot-cha.” I’m called Tim, Tim Creekman.”

_ He’s an Englishman! _ Katya exclaimed to herself, just now noticing the man’s quaint British accent. In all the excitement she had somehow missed it. She looked him up and down now aswell, taking in his full appearance.

The man was tall, maybe somewhere around the estimated height of six feet and ten inches. He had sandy brown hair that curled just past his chiseled jawline, which he kept tucked behind the most perfect pair of ears Katya had ever had the pleasure of viewing. He was extremely muscular as well, with a shredded eight pack and deeply pronounced v lines that ended triumphantly in his otherworldly cock. He wore nothing but the pair of brown dress shoes Katya had seen earlier, as well as a pair of knee-high black socks. His ass wasn’t half bad either.

“It’s very nice to meet you Tim.” Katya said, still unsure what exactly to make of the well-hung Brit. “Now that you’re free, I have to ask, where is everybody today? I’m supposed to be picking up a very important pickle delivery and could really use some help.”

“I’m happy to answer all of your questions,” Tim said in his lovely accent, “but don’t you think we should fuck first?”

“You know, you’re right!” Katya exclaimed. “I haven’t had a penis in me yet today.” Katya mused, then paused, her calculating mind thinking hard, then added “or yesterday for that matter!” 

Katya preferred to be dominant, to be on top, to be the one giving. Even when she received it was always because she had given something big in return. But just this once, she thought, she was ready take it without earning it at all. She was ready to be used, used hard. suddenly realizing that if she didn’t have this man right here and right now she’d have to end it all, Katya made up her mind. She stripped off in a record time of five minutes and hopped up on the bathroom sink counter, spreading her pliable legs wide so that her already wet vagina swung open.

“In we go, then.” Tim said, jabbing the swollen head of his still spitty prick into Katya. Katya quickly threw out a hand and steadied it against Tim’s muscular stomach, pausing him from moving further.

“Tim, I have to level with you.” Katya said, flicking her soft hair over her shoulder. She then leaned her head back against the wall mirror as she spoke. “You have, frankly, the largest and hardest penis I’ve ever seen, and while I know I can take it, I think we better go slow.”

“Of course.” Tim said, understanding the woman’s needs immediately. “We’ll go an inch at a time.” He bent his head and captured Katya’s lips in a kiss as he slid in the second inch of his unfair rod.

_ How do I keep winding up in these situations? _ Katya laughed internally as she gripped Tim hard with her hands, digging her well-trimmed nails into his smooth, built back.

In went the third inch.

In went the fourth inch.

In went the fifth inch.

In went the sixth inch.

“Tweak my nipples.” Katya demand, feeling annoyed that her fabulous breasts hadn’t received any action yet. Tim promptly obliged, taking each of Katya’s bright pink and heavily extended nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He began to apply pressure in synchronization with his easy going penetration.

In went the seventh inch.

Tim pinched harder.

In went the eight inch, and Katya gasped, for the first time secretly doubting her ability to fit all of the brutish dick inside her body. Tim responded by pinching her nipples harder still.

In went the ninth inch, then the tenth, and Katya could feel a scream building inside her, it’s power fueled by the activities she was engaging in, the ones that were sexual of nature.

“How you doin’ love?” Tim asked, never loosening his vice-like grip on her milk-makers and never breaking eye contact. Katya was unable to answer, instead letting her teary eyes do the talking as she bit her lip until it bled. She had never felt a pleasure quite like this.

In went the eleventh inch, and the world around Katya began to heighten, every detail of the man before her’s body coming into laser sharp focus.

In went the twelfth inch, and Katya tightened her pelvic floor, wondering how the indescribable sensation could only keep increasing.

Finally, Tim gave a mighty heave, and both the thirteenth and fourteenth inches of his hard penis joined the rest deep within the casing of Katya’s brimming pussy. The sensation was too much, and as he brought down his mouth once again onto Katya’s, squeezing his fingers so tight on Katya’s nipples she thought they might burst and pop open, Katya could no longer hold back.

Together, the couple screamed into each other’s throats like wild animals, the barbaric sounds echoing down into the pits of their stomachs as they forced the noises through their mouths and down into each others’ bodies.

Katya orgasamed and Tim’s cock spasmed, ejaculating like a floodgate into Katya’s overflowing slit. Minute after minute Tim’s cock burst, shooting more and more semen inside of Katya’s female cave, and she orgasamed again, pulling against Tim, wishing she could somehow open up and allow all of his entire being to enter her in a fleeting moment of passion.

After around fifteen minutes of sticky sustained biological destruction, Tim pulled out in one fluid moment, and both parties collapsed, the weight of the deed they’d just committed too much to bare. Tim achingly crawled to his knees and lowered his head, opening his mouth and placing it, searching and sucking onto Katya’s vagina. With a final week and pitiful cry, the ruined Katya arched her back and squirted, allowing her own juices to mix with Tim’s tidal wave of semen. Tim’s mouth stayed locked on her pillaged vagina as his seed came pouring out of her and over his tongue, where he funneled it down into his rumbling belly, tasting and savoring every last drop of he and Katya’s incorporated fluids. As Katya expelled the last drops of semen and squirt into Tim’s grateful mouth, he collapsed and began to weep uncontrollably as his still erect cock began to shudder, and he started to piss all over himself.

Almost unable to move, the one hundred percent drained Katya flopped off of the counter and crawled dismally to Tim, hoisting her body so she lay on top of his. She kissed away his tears of joy, running fingers through his chest hair and held him tight as his mutant prick rained golden urine down over them, soaking them both to their souls.

 

After a quick washing up and a re-dressing, Katya and Tim exited the bathroom, chatting placidly about the storm that had crossed over yesterday. Tim led Katya further down the abandoned corridor as they chatted.

“So tell me Tim,” Katya said expectantly, “where is everybody?”

“Ah you’ve just caught us on a slow day is all.” Tim said, ushering Katya through three doors and up a flight of stairs. They now stood in a waiting room, much smaller than the enormous lobby Katya had first encountered when she’d entered the building but  _ much _ more fabulously decorated. Western style tapestries hung about the room, all hand stitched and baring images of pickles and other things. Cow skulls decorated one wall, ten gallon hats another, and lassoos another still. There was a second door connected to the last wall, and above it hung a neon cursive sign, the bright yellow letters reading “The Doctor is in!”

“What do you mean a slow day?” Katya asked, running her hands up and down the cow-hide rug that was placed beautifully in the center of the room.

“Well normally this place is mobbed, as you can imagine. We have over three thousand employees on site alone, and combine that with things like private tours and the hordes of adoring fans, well, you can imagine how hectic it is here, especially for a quality control ensurer like me.”

“Sure,” Katya said, a little disappointed to learn that Tim Creekman was in quality control rather than some form of cooking like her, “but why is it empty today?”

“Well, we filled a giant order yesterday, so the boss gave everyone the day off.” Tim said, knocking expectantly on the wooden door with the sign.

“Giant order?” Katya wondered back.

“Yeah, for the Grill Me Good Diner in Austin, Texas. Have you heard of them?”

Katya stopped dead in her tracks.

“Tim,” she annunciated very carefully, holding the man tightly by the shoulders “what do you mean you filled an order for Grill Me Good Diner yesterday?”

“Exactly that.” Tim said, a little taken aback by Katya’s urgency. “We got a call yesterday morning that some feisty Russian woman would be showing up with a big rig to pick up the pickle delivery for the diner, because all our trucks are broken at the moment and we’re not able to complete any deliveries by ourselves. So, when she showed up, we loaded up the order and sent her on her way.” Katya felt like the world was crashing down around her as Tim told the story in his light English accent.

“Tim.” She breathed, swaying slightly on her feet. “My name isn’t just Katya, my last name is Zamolodchikova. Do you understand?”

“So you’re Ukrainian?” Tim asked, his eyes wide with confusion.

“No, I’m Russian!” Katya cried. “ _ I’m _ the feisty Russian woman who came to pick up the order for Grill Me Good Diner!”

“That can’t be.” Tim said, that order was completely filled yesterday, and all we have left is a small order of one box of pickles set for pick up today.”

“This can’t be happening.” Katya whispered, the horrible voices in her head she had worked through so many years ago suddenly coming back in full force. “This can’t be happening.”

“It will be ok, the boss will get this figured out.” Tim said, putting a reassuring hand around Katya’s shoulders.

“The boss?” Katya asked in her stupor, vaguely noticing the initials “T.M.” carved into the lit up door Tim had knocked on.

“Yes, T.M. herself is in today.” Tim said, smiling encouragingly. “If anyone can figure this out, she can.”

“T.M. is a person?” Katya asked, the second bombshell of the day hitting her just as hard as the first. “I always thought the letters stood for ‘Texas ‘Merica’s Pickles.’”

“No, they stand for our boss, the founder and CEO of the company.” Tim said. “T.M. stands for Trixie. Trixie Mattel.”

Katya watched in shock as the door to the office slowly swung open.

 

COMING SOON:

**CHAPTER SIX: Howdy! D’ya Fancy A Ride?**

The end of the world seems nigh, but Katya is finding allies where she least expects them.


	6. CHAPTER SIX: Howdy! D’ya Fancy A Ride?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates three times a week

 

**CHAPTER SIX: Howdy! D’ya Fancy A Ride?**

“So let me get this straight.” The woman said again, puffing out a cloud of smoke from the odorous cigar she kept clamped between her teeth. “Your name is Katya Zamolodchikova and you were sent here from Grill Me Good Diner, where you work, to pick up the restaurant’s pickle order in your semi truck and deliver it back, but when you got here you found out that we had already filled that order to someone else?”

“That’s exactly it.” Katya said firmly, looking Trixie dead in the eye. The two women were alone in Trixie’s office, a luxurious cowboy themed space complete with everything from a mechanical bull in one corner to a jacuzzi in the next. Trixie Mattel, CEO extraordinaire, sat in a swivel chair, puffing on her cigar, feet up on her desk. She was heavenly in a down to Earth sort of way, Katya had thought. She had an extremely voluminous pile of blonde waves and curls on her head that burst out from the brown ten gallon she wore. Her entire body was clothed in denim- denim embroidered vest, frilled denim chapps, even a denim neckerchief. Her presented feet made it visible that her brown cowboy boots- ostrich skin, Katya was sure, had four inch heels on them. She puffed again on her cigar and exhaled the smoke, letting it be swept away by the notoriously clean Dallas breeze that whispered in through the open window of the office.

“What to do, what to do…” Trixie murmured to herself, tapping her boot-clad feet rhythmically on her polished bamboo paneled desk. “Any chance our remaining order could work for you?” She asked.

“One measly box of pickles?” Katya scoffed. “I think not.”

“True, true.” Trixie agreed, seeing the problem but maybe not caring as much as she should. “Tim, would you be a dear and scurry down to the factory? See if we have any leftover pickles, enough to scrape together a replacement order for Miss Zamolodchikova here.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Tim Creekman said, immediately exiting the room.

_ So far he’s not done much quality assurance. _ Katya mused to herself.  _ Well, not in the pickle department anyway _ she added, her vagina still sore from it’s altercation with Tim’s  _ own _ gurkin.

“Can I fix you a drink while Tim checks for us?” Trixie asked, rising fluidly from her swivel chair. She strutted over to the mini bar that occupied the third corner of her homy office.

“I’ll take one.” Katya said. “I know I could use something to relieve a little of the stress I’m currently feeling.”

“Well a sip of this should do the trick.” Trixie said, handing Katya a crystal chalice filled with a bright red liquid she had paddled into it from a punch bowl moments earlier. Katya took a tentative sip and smiled.

“That’s just divine!” She exclaimed, taking a second sip, and another. “What is it?”

“TM's Texas Punch.” Trixie beamed. “It’s a drink I invented, one part merlot, one part vodka, one part sake and eight parts red cherry juice drink. I’m thinking of taking it commercial, think it could sell?”

“Absolutely.” Katya enthused, downing the rest of her glass in one big gulp.

“I’m glad you like it.” Trixie smiled at her, her nicely shaped teeth stained bright red from the drink. “Help yourself to more if you like.” Katya obliged and by her third chalice full of the stuff was starting to feel pretty tipsy. The women got to chatting politely but were soon interrupted when Trixie’s wall phone started ringing. “Hello?” Trixie answered, rolling her eyes conspiratorily at Katya.

“Boss, it’s Tim.” Katya could hear the English accent all the way from through the phone. “Looks like we’re completely out of pickles and won't start on a new batch until tomorrow. I’m not sure how we’re meant to help our guest there.”

“Why don’t you look at the order form for our one remaining order of pickles.” Trixie said. “The most likely outcome is that this order was meant for the woman who picked up Miss Zamolodchikova’s order yesterday, and the crew accidently filled  _ her _ truck with the wrong order. I strongly believe that this was nothing more than an honest mistake, and that no ill will is going on here.”

“Sure, I can do that,” came Tim’s reply, “but why?”

“Well you see,” Trixie said, “if the gods are truly on our side, if we find out the details on the woman who got Miss Zamolodchikova’s order, we’ll know exactly who she works for and where she’ll be taking the pickles.”

“Then we can get on the road and hopefully intercept her before she gets too far!” Katya finished Trixie's thought, almost laughing at the genius of the plan. “It’s foolproof.”

“Makes sense.” Tim’s voice came crackling over the office phone. “I’ll get all the proper information in order and bring the file back up to your office. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Perfect, wonderful, thank you Tim.” Trixie said, brusquely hanging up the phone before Tim could get another word in edgewise. She turned to Katya and rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Everything is going to be ok.” She said, her big blue eyes brimming with sorrow and honesty. Katya shrugged and scratched her armpit.

“It’s just hard to be stuck here, knowing the pickles are out of my reach, and moving farther and farther away with every second. I mean, what if they’ve been eaten by now?” Katya moaned. She wobbled, only slightly, but Trixie immediately stepped in and took Katya in a bear hug, her delicate hands tracing down the fry cooks silky blonde hair in a soothing manner.

“Shh, shh.” She cooed, rocking Kayta against her shoulder. “You mustn't think like that. I  _ know _ you are going to get those pickles back. You don’t seem like the kind of woman who gives up easily.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” Katya steeled herself, wiping her nose hastily on her wrist. She stared at Trixie, wondering how the stranger could be showing her such kindness.

“Say, d’ya wanna do something fun to pass the time while Tim puts together that file for you?” Trixie asked, her eyes suddenly becoming suggestive and sly.

“What did you have in mind?” Katya wondered, always up for some fun.

“Well, here at TM's we’ve been working on a new type of pickle.” Trixie said, slowly walking to the fourth and final corner of the room, which was covered completely by a pink velvet curtain. “A psychedelic pickle-” Trixie burst suddenly into a coughing fit, a nasty repercussion of the deadly cigar she now stamped out on the cold floor. “A psychadelik pickle designed for recreational use.” Trixie recovered. She gave a hard tug on the golden string that dangled from the ceiling near the corner and the curtains quickly withdrew, revealing what they had hid.

It was a fourth of a circular stage, small but big enough for two beds and a bookcase holding what looked to Katya like pickle jars.

“These special pickles,” Trixie began, climbing tactfully onto the stage, “are soaked in a unique brine, a drug-like substance that gives them psychoactive properties, all natural of course. They can cause safe but intense vivid hallucinations. Care to try?”

“That sounds like fun!” Katya enthused, running to join Trixie on the small stage. “Besides, I need to take my mind off of this stressful delivery and with time to kill, why not invibe a little?”

“Wonderful.” Trixie said, removing one of the jars from the large bookcase and unscrewing it. The scent of pickely brine immediately flooded the room.

“I can’t believe you can go on a trip just from eating one pickle.” Katya said, reaching for a pickle with an interested hand.

“Oh no you don’t.” Trixie said, pulling the jar away from Katya’s fingers. “You don’t  _ eat _ these pickles.” Katya flushed in surprise. “The brine is totally safe but should not be ingested.” Trixie explained, dipping her manicured fingers into the jar and pulling out two largely shaped pickles. “Therefore, it has to be absorbed another way. Are ya fallowing?”

“Yes.” Katya said, quickly starting to strip. Katya took off first her white cook’s cap, then her apron, then her overalls, and finally her black spandex shorts, leaving on her compressive red sports bra. She pranced around the stage, liking the way Trixie flushed and murmured kind remarks about her ample undercarriage. Katya was  _ always _ one for the stage.

“You have such a lovely body.” Trixie said, starting to remove her own denim ensemble. “May I direct you to lie it here?”

“You may.” Katya said, stretching out on one of the two beds that Trixie had indicated. Trixie approached her holding a pickle, now totally and utterly naked herself. Katya took in the other woman’s body appraisingly. It was stunningly beautiful, but in a familiar way, like Katya had known it intimately for all of her life. As Trixie stood by her bed side, Katya began to absently run her fingers through the other woman’s massive overgrown blonde pubic bush.

“Do you mind if I do this for you?” Trixie asked, caressingly spreading Katya’s legs for her.

“Not at all, be my guest.” Katya said, mentally moistening her vagina, out of politeness. With easy handling, Trixie slid the laced pickle into the the channels of Katya’s pussy. There, it found lodging, and there it remained as Trixie extracted her fingers, laid down on the other bed, and repeated the process with her own pair of pickle and pussy.

“Don’t be nervous.” Trixie said, stretching out a soft lotioned hand and taking Katya’s grasp.

“I won’t be, as long as you stay here with me.” Katya answers, closing her eyes and letting the pickle work its magic.

 

Katya whirled down through a cloud of pink cotton candy, her mind and body as light as whipped cream. Giant burgers flew through the air on lettuce wings, swooping over lakes of ketchup that were dotted with the french fries that fell from the sky like rain.

_ It’s beautiful here. _ Katya thought, admiring the surroundings her trip had conjured for her.  _ I hope Trixie is having as good a time as I am. _

Katya continued to fly through the air, affecting perfect palettes and pirouettes, living out her girlhood fantasy of being a ballerina. She munched on tatertots and crispy bacon as the food flew by, snagging a beautiful hot cake topped with butter and pure maple syrup. Katya moaned as she flew and ate, the pleasure of her hallucinatory trip heightened by the real-world stimulation of the catalyzing pickle rubbing tantalizingly against her swollen cliterous.

_ When I return to my body, _ Katya thought,  _ I might even find that I’ve orgasamed! How strange that would be. _

Dipping down past blueberry muffin mountains, Katya came to fields of grain, the harvest high and waving in the warm air. Katya instantly recognized this place as the great American prairie, and knew, from experience what she would see as she continued across the fields; an old turn-of-the-century farmhouse with a coat of peeling skyblue paint and a few sheep roaming contentedly out back. Sure enough, the structure came, rising out of the fields of wheat like a monolith. The light turned bright and the world began to tunnel…

Suddenly Katya was back in the farmhouse. She sat in a rickety kitchen chair, massaging her sweaty legs which were tired out from a long day of chopping wood. She breathed in through her nose and her eyelids fluttered with pleasure; her girlfriend was cooking her favorite dish.

She was there now, Katya’s girlfriend, stood at the small gas stovetop, gently stirring a bubbling pot of fish stew as she quietly hummed to herself.

_ This is the life. _ Katya thought to herself, reclining her head in her hands and watching her girlfriends swaying body as she begin to ladle up the meal.  _ Just me, my house, and most importantly, my woman. What more could a girl ask for? _

“Heaven is empty, and all the angels are here.” Katya sang the bastardized Shakespeare quotation aloud, leaning in for a warm kiss as her girlfriend set their supper down on the scratchy wooden table. With grainy irritation, the image began to fade, and Katya sighed. She knew the vision, like the memory and the farmhouse itself, could not last. She blinked her eyes as the taste of fish stew faded from her mouth and let her vision adjust back into the sunny daylight of Trixie Mattel’s wild west office space.

“Have a good time?” Trixie asked. She was sitting up in her bed, a vaguely sweaty smile stretched across her face.

“I did.” Katya said. “Those pickles are wonderful.”

“Aren’t they just?” Trixie laughed. “They’ll be hitting the shelves in december, just in time for the christmas season.”

“I’ll gladly be the first customer,” Katya joked “but right now I think it’s time to take this thing out of me.” Katya reached down and started to remove the pickle. In a flash Trixie was by her side, and her hand shot out to stop Katya.

“No. Let me.” She said, taking the somewhat large pickle in her grasp. With slow, deliberate hands, she began to use the vegetable to masturbate Katya.

“That’s nice.” Katya whispered. Just a little while ago she had been sexually drained by Tim Creekman’s really big penis, but the hallucinatory pickle trip had rested and rejuvenated her, and she had to admit, Trixie was a bombshell. Katya had always known there was no way she would be leaving the office without tasting  _ her _ pickle.

“Get a taste of these.” Trixie said, thrusting her free tits into Katya’s face while she slipped her hand under Katya’s tight sports bra. Katya began to suck on Trixie’s quickly hardening nipples, and soon the flesh was erect and quivering in her mouth. Taking a chance, Katya fit Trixie’s left nipple between her two front teeth and began to gently nibble it, using her teeth to scrape the tender flesh.

“UNHhhh!” Trixie moaned, now vaginally penetrating Katya faster and deeper with the pickle. Her free hand was becoming sweaty trapped under Katya’s bra and she struggled against the material, desperately squeezing both of Katya’s breasts like stress balls. Katya spit out Trixie’s nipples.

“Get on top of me.” Katya commanded, knowing exactly where the fun was headed. Trixie climbed onto the bed, and straddled Katya, letting the cook take her soft malleable body in her strong arms. The women positioned themselves so that their vaginas were just over each other, and Trixie began to bounce when she knew she was in the optimal location to do so. The protruding ends of the pickles from both of the women’s private parts struck together with each bounce, and soon the women were powerfully fucking each other, using the pickles as sexual tools prime for doing the deed.

“Harder!” Trixie screamed, bouncing faster and faster. Her oval boobs jigged about the room, out of sync with Trixie’s rhythm, and Katya caught one, squeezing it hard with her left hand. With her right hand Katya grasped Trixie’s waste, digging her nails in hard until the soft tanned flesh became white form strain.

Their pelvises colliding at full force, Trixie and Katya fucked each other for a good twenty minutes, a time in which Trixie orgasamed at least three times, each in quick succession. On Trixie’s last orgasm, Katya finally came as well, her lower body suddenly wracked with fitful tremors of hedonism that swam about her body like electric eels.

“What a great first round.” Trixie panted, bestowing Katya with a light kiss on the cheek. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last time we screw.” Before Katya could answer, Trixie’s wall phone rang, and the voluminous blonde ran over to answer it. Her face turned peacefully grim, and she gave Katya a serious look before hanging up and returning to her bedside.

“Give it to me straight.” Katya said, beginning to redress. She was ready for whatever news Trixie had to give, but before the pickle CEO could answer Katya felt the corner of the manila envelope tied with red twine poke her from within the apron and quickly produced it. “I almost forgot.” Katya exclaimed. “My boss, Bob, handed me this manila envelope yesterday and I found directions to deliver it straight to you. So,” Katya handed the thing over to Trixie who took it, looking it over quizzically, “there you go.”

“Thank you.” Trixie said, stoing the manila envelope in the second-from-the-bottom drawer on the right hand side of her big desk. “I’ll have a look at that later.”

“Now I’m ready.” Katya said, tying her apron firmly around her waist. Her bout with Trixie had calmed her nerves immensely, and she felt she could handle the ever developing situation with much more grace and aplomb now than before. “What’s the diagnosis?”

“It’s not good.” Trixie said gravely. “The pickles you were supposed to pick up are apparently on their way to a joint called The Vegetable Shack. If they make it there, they’ll definitely be consumed.”

“Alright.” Katya said, not letting the news overwhelm her. “So I’ll have to hit the road like, now, and intercept the pickles before they make it there.”

“That’s the problem.” Trixie said. “I know you’re on a time constraint, but the pickles are headed somewhere far away, farther than you’d ever imagined you’d have to go.”

“Just tell me where.” Katya said confidently. She was done playing the victim here, it was time to buck up and take control of the situation, no matter how hopeless and dire it got.

“The pickles are headed West.” Trixie breathed, the words barely audible, even in the still room and silent factory. “Far West. Katya, the pickles are headed to El Paso.”

“Shit.” Katya swore. It  _ was _ indeed worse than she’d imagined. Was she really about to embark on a laborious journey to the farthest most Western part of all of the great state of Texas? “I genuinely don’t know if I’ll make it in time.” Katya sighed, hanging her head in her hands.”

“Well if speed is what you’re after, I’ve got just the thing.” Trixie said, her demure complexion suddenly lighting up with the excitement of and idea. “Let me ask you one thing, Katya.” She said, cupping Katya chin her in her smooth dewey hand. “D’ya fancy a ride?”

 

COMING SOON:

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Faster Than A Speeding Bullet**

With a boost from Trixie and a scoot of her own, Katya heads West, pushing her big rig to the limits of what it can do in an all out mad dash race cross-country, the finish line: El Paso, The Vegetable Shack, and, with a little grace from God, Katya’s pickles.


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN: Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates three times a week

 

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Faster Than A Speeding Bullet**

With a boost from Trixie and a scoot of her own, Katya heads West, pushing her big rig to the limits of what it can do in an all out mad dash race cross-country, the finish line: El Paso, The Vegetable Shack, and, with a little grace from God, Katya’s pickles.

 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Katya asked, standing as far back as the parking lot would allow, watching Founder and CEO of TM's Pickles, Trixie Mattel, unscrew the top of her red chrome big rig’s gas cap.

“Totally.” Trixie said, now heaving her sloshing jug up and emptying it into the gas tank. “This stuff burns like a dream and we’ve done hundreds of tests, mostly on our own trucks. That means it’s trustworth.” Katya watched, still slightly doubtful as Trixie emptied the jug of refined pickle brine into her semi. According to Trixie, the stuff burned cleaner than gasoline and could increase any vehicles speed by at least five percent, meaning Katya would soon be flying West down Texas Interstate twenty at a speed somewhat faster than she previously would have been able to travel at.

“I really appreciate this, Trixie.” Katya said, approaching the woman as she screwed the gas cap back in. “All you’ve done for me, I mean.”

“Oh it’s really no problem.” Trixie answered, her gratuitous blonde curls now plastered to her forehead with sweat. “We here at TM's Pickles make good on our promises, and besides,” she added coyley, “I would never be able to say no to those big blue eyes.” Katya blushed, her cheeks turning as red as her giant truck as Trixie leaned in, her puffy lips demanding a kiss. Katya gave her one, tasting the velvet pink smoothness of Trixie’s facial lips, as well as the salty bitter taste of her saliva, which always tasted slightly of pickles and cigar smoke. “Now get out there and get those pickles!” Trixie whooped, smacking Katya hard on the ass. She removed her big ol’ cowboy hat and waved it dramatically in parting as Katya vaulted up into the truck cabin and pulled smoothly out of the parking lot, catching her final glimpse of Trixie, who stood, stoic and shining like the many gold and silver statues around her.

 _I’m going to miss that bitch._ Katya thought to herself as she stepped on the pedal and let her pioneering big rig taste the full potential of the environmentally friendly state of the art pickle fuel Trixie had filled it with just minutes ago.

 

Making good time, Katya rode on. Through Fort Worth she went, then through Cisco and finally Abilene. She slowed her famously faster-than-usual automobile when she reached the Sweetwater city limits, her growling stomach alerting her that her truck wasn’t the only thing that needed refueling. With a defeated sigh Katya parked her big rig, clambered out, and entered the one and only Sweetwater Supermarket.

The place was full for a Saturday, but not as full as you’d think, and Katya had no problem navigating through the Sweetwater locals who pointed and gawked at her, noticing her strange garb that clearly marked her as a resident of the great city of Austin. Katya paid it no mind and instead set to filling her cart with all the provisions she could possibly need: bags of carrots, chocolate preserved snack cakes, and oysters in juice (she would need the jars to pee in, as she knew she couldn’t afford to make anymore stops after this one.)

 _This is going to take forever,_ Katya bemoaned to herself as she found a spot in line and settled in for the wait. There were only two registers open in the horribly understaffed supermarket, and Katya heard many customers moan as one of the line’s lights shut off, meaning that that register would soon be closing and the patrons of the store would just have to find another line to queue in, specifically, the one right next to the closed line, as it was the only other line open at the moment. Katya made no attempt to switch lines, however, because she knew the light had switched off _after_ she had already solidified her spot in line, meaning not only would she be able to be checked out in the line she was currently standing in, but she would in fact be the _last_ customer that the checkout clerk would be helping that day, as the line would officially close after Katya was checked out and on her way.

Thirty minutes later the line had finally progressed enough to mean that it was Katya’s turn to check out. She laid her items out on the moving conveyor belt and flashed a polite smile at the checkout girl, a beautiful blonde woman who’s name tag fastened loosely to her ample bosom designated her as “Miss Mansfield.”

“Thank you for shopping at the Sweetwater Supermarket, sorry about the wait.” Miss Mansfield said in a surprisingly bubbly voice. She grinned toothily at katya and began scanning, then bagging Katya’s provisions, just as one who works at a supermarket checkout lane does.

“It’s alright, not your fault.” Katya said.

“Did you notice I closed my line earlier, that you’re my last customer?” Miss Mansfield asked in her impossibly high pitched voice. _It’s like she’ been sucking helium all day,_ Katya thought to herself, but “I did.” was all she said.

“It’s because I saw you all the way back there, when you first entered my line.” Miss Mansfield said, suddenly bursting into a fit of giggles that she quickly suppressed. “I noticed your clothes and immediately deduced that you were not just any Texan, but an Austin-Texan. Was I right?”

“You were indeed.” Katya said, wondering where on Earth this odd woman was going with her statements.

“That’s great to hear,” the woman continued, handing Katya her receipt as the frycook had readily paid for her items, “because I need something, and only a cityslicker can give it to me.”

“What is it?” Katya asked, now genuinely curious. She started in surprise when Miss Mansfield took her hand. The other woman’s hand was pudgy and sweaty, but felt nice to the touch.

“Follow me, and I’ll show you.” Miss Mansfield whispered, reaching under her register and producing an oversized designer Lisa Frank shoulder bag that looked as expensive as it was. She began to quickly saunter away from her closed register lane, ignoring the boos and cries of unfairness from the single line of queueing customers that watched her go. Katya stood confused, but only for a moment, for she quickly loaded her now purchased groceries into a long abandoned metal shopping cart and followed Miss Mansfield’s bouncing plump ass. She knew she didn’t have time for this, but the woman needed her help, and she was too good of a Sumaritan to turn her away in her time of need. Miss Mansfield wore a floor length white woolen work dress that was tied tightly at her chubby middle, and Katya watched the stiff fabric sway slightly as the worker led her back into the deep of the supermarket.

“Miss Mansfield-” Katya began, but the woman cut her off.

“Please, call me Jaymes.” She said, leading Katya at last into the final row in the market, the place where they kept the Christmas decorations.

“Why did you lead me here Jaymes?” Katya asked.

“This is the perfect row.” Jaymes said in her whistley voice. “It’s the last row in the whole supermarket, but that’s not why it’s perfect. It’s perfect because here is where we keep our Christmas decorations, and it is not at all the Christmas season right now. Are you following?”

“Not yet.” Katya revealed, watching mystified as Jaymes Mansfield crouched noiselly on the aisle floor and got onto all fours.

“Well, because it’s not at all near the Christmas season,” Jaymes continued, slightly out of breath from the effort of lowering her body to the floor, “no one is shopping for Christmas decorations. And because no one is shopping for Christmas decorations, no one will be coming down this aisle today, which makes it the perfect aisle, the perfect aisle for doing things in that you don’t want anybody else to see.”

“I’m still not following.” Katya said. Jaymes swung her head around to face her, shook her jiggly ass and flashed that toothy grin once more.

“Look in the bag, sweetie.” Jaymes cooed. “Then you’ll understand. Katya moved to where Jaymes had dropped her gorgeous neon shoulder bag on the ground and peered inside, understanding what Jaymes needed help with _immediately_  the second she did: the bag was full to the brim with all shapes and sizes of penis-shaped dildos!

“Egads!” Katya archaically exclaimed, running her pinky over one of the marital aids.

“Let’s get started.” Jaymes said, hiking up her work dress to reveal that she had no underwear on. Her full pussy stank hungrilly.

“Which one do you want me to fuck you with?” Katya asked, sifting through the pile of what must have been at least forty different dildos. Some were long, some were short. Some were thin and some were thick. One was even extremely veiny. The only thing the dildos had in common was this, that they all had their balls cut off.

“Oh, citygirl, you misunderstand again!” Jaymes giggled wildly, her hanging belly shaking seductively. “I don’t want _one_ of them in me, I want _all_ of them in me! All the dildos. In my holes. Mm’k?”

“Got it.” Katya said, finally feeling informed and up for the task. She rubbed her nicotine-yellowed hands together, hocked a loogie onto Jaymes’s already moistening vag, and went to work. With expert fingers Katya began to slide the dildos in, fitting them snuggly against each other and pushing Jayme’s vaginal walls to the extremes of what they were capable of. _She’s one of_ those _dames,_ Katya thought to herself as she fitted in dildo #5 like a jigsaw puzzle piece, _a lady who likes being filled to the brim._ Twenty dildos down, it became clear that Jaymes Mansfield’s pussy flesh was utterly stretched to its final limits. It looked quite odd, all those protruding nut-less dildos, but Jaymes was squealing contentedly like a horny Christmas piggy and seemed to be having a whale of a time. “You’re full up.” Katya announced, giving Jaymes’s ass a resounding slap. She was all set to rise from her knees and leave the woman there when Jaymes called out.

“Then start on my ass you silly citygirl!” Miss Mansfield sang in her little bitty voice.

 _My God, it’s like stuffing a chipmunk!_ Katya thought, but quickly went to work. During this time, Katya had stripped, thinking she might as well enjoy herself on this unplanned break, and had rubbed herself nearly to completion, but she was holding back, out of respect for Jaymes.  When she had jammed the remaing twenty didlos snuggly into Jaymes Mansfield’s perfumed taint she thought she would find the woman content and riding waves of pleasure, but when she moved to face her, her expression was dour and her head was hanging towards the floor. She looked dead or maybe sick.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Katya asked, tilting Jayme’s face up and towards her with a wet finger.

“Katya, I need a dick in my mouth, desperately,” Jaymes whined in her squeaky voice, “but I’m completely out of dildos! What on God's green Earth are we going to do?”

“I know just the thing.” Katya said. She was prepared for emergencies likes this one, and she knew if she didn’t act fast and with poise, it could cost both her and Jayme’s their hard earned orgasams. With a deft hand, Katya reached out and dipped her fingers into the lower center pocket of her long discarded apron, and removed her stainless steel spatula. With a firm, gentle hand, Katya fit the big handle of the spatula hard over Jayme’s wiggling tongue, and grinned when the worker woman sighed in pleasure. Katyta repositioned herself behind Jaymes, eyeing the impressive rainbow aray at the back of her.

Gripping the spatula tightly Katya pulled back on it, giving Jaymes the oral pressure she needed, then jammed her shoulder and all of her body weight against the mass of dildos protruding from the woesome holes of Jaymes’s hindquarters.

 _This can’t be healthy._ Katya thought to herself, but she repeated the action again and again, admittedly enjoying the muffled yelps that escaped from Jaymes’s front half. Katya was able to cum from the screaming alone, and she thought she felt Jaymes orgasm, so she removed the spatula and wiped the saliva off it, using her apron as a sort of rag.

“It’s time for the big finale.” Jaymes breathed breathlessly. She ordered Katya to stand back, and the short order fry cook obliged, pressing herself flat against a shelf of ornamental Santas in preparation for whatever was going to happen. She watched in awe and horror as Jaymes Mansfield gritted her teeth and began to sway back and forth on her hands and knees. Her face become beet red and her voice was guttural as she chanted powerful sounding words over and over again in some foreign language. It could have been Cantonese, or maybe Malay, Katya reckoned. Suddenly and without warning Miss Mansfield arched her sweaty blotchy back and screamed like a seal. Katya stood witness as the checkout woman’s hiny and pussy tightened, convulsed, them spasmed, shooting the dildos out of their flesh walls like rockets. Up up and away the dildos went, shooting unbelievably high into the air then raining down around the store like rain. Katya heard cries of strangers just trying to go about their shopping  as they were struck by the unidentified castrated dildos that reached every corner and every aisle of the Sweetwater Supermarket in Sweetwater, Texas.

Jaymes Mansfield collapsed on the ground in a puddle of her own juices, her overextended holes quickly tightening and shriveling back into place. Katya gave her a loving pat on the top of the head, thanked her for the orgasm, redressed, grabbed her groceries, and was back on her way.

 

About eight miles down the road from Sweetwater, Katya saw something that made her jaw drop. In an adjacent lane, driving at an idle pace of only about fifty miles per hour, was a shiny chrome semi truck big rig with a royal blue finish on the hood. The truck looked full- Katya knew a full truck- but the piece de resistance was the red white and blue flag that flew from the back of the truck bed on a spindly piece of wire.

It wasn’t the American flag.

It was the Russian Flag.

Katya sucked in a breath between her two front teeth and revved her engine. This Russian flag flying high on the back of the truck could only mean one thing: that this was the woman who had taken Katya’s pickles! And here she was, parading them out in the open like she hadn’t a care in the world. Katya tilted her chef’s cap low over her eyes and began to chuckle, a low gritty chuckle that filled every nerve in her body with anticipation, excitement, and even some sexual exhilaration. She lit a cigarette, and stepped on the gas, her will as unbending as the rigid stainless steel of her fry cook’s spatula.

 

COMING SOON

 **CHAPTER EIGHT: Katya Gets Fucked. Katya Gets** **_Fucked._ ** **Oh No.**

Our lust filled heroin comes face to face with her shocking nemesis, and the course of her journey changes drastically.


	8. CHAPTER EIGHT: Katya Gets Fucked. Katya Gets Fucked. Oh No.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt tale of sex, romance and grease, join Katya Zamolodchikova as she traverses the wild texas terrain, getting herself into more problems than she’s solving.

**CHAPTER EIGHT: Katya Gets Fucked. Katya Gets** **_Fucked._ ** **Oh No.**

 

“ _ Here chickie, chickie, chickie _ .” Katya sang aloud as she took the exit off the highway, following the royal blue big rig. “ _ Here chickie chick chick chikeroo. _ ” She had been driving behind the truck for nearly an hour, her own red big rig bumper to bumper with this one, and her hand had been pressed firmly on her horn the whole time. Ordinarily Katya would have stepped on the gas and run this semi truck clean off the road, no questions asked, but this was no ordinary situation. That truck housed her stollen pickles, she was sure of it, and she needed to retrieve them safely. This would not be a messy operation, but it would be a tricky one.

“That’s it, nice and easy.” Katya murmured to herself, watching the other truck park securely on the side of the dirt road. She rolled her own automobile up behind it and climbed out. As she approached the driver's seat of the blue truck Katya said a silent prayer to her proto-slavic deities, removed her cap and let her blonde hair tumble out.

“Who goes there?” A voice like silk came slithering from behind the tinted windows of the royal blue big rig.

“My name is Katya.” Katya called back. “And I believe you have something of mine.” The road was silent for a good ten minutes, and Katya found herself wondering if the driver of this truck had fallen asleep.

_ Maybe she’s a narcoleptic like my old roommate. _ Katya thought to herself, but the other voice pulled her out of her memories.

“And what do you think I’ve got?” The silky voice asked in its silky way.

“My pickles.” Katya shouted, now furious thinking about her dear pickles trapped in this strange woman’s truck. “And I DEMAND you give them back!”

“There’s no need to get angry, my sweet.” The voice came again. “Come now, I’m sure we can talk this out.” The door of the blue truck began to open and Katya stepped back, admiring the driver as she emerged.

She was a striking woman, tall and curvy with strong exposed arms. She wore a pair of red and white checkered cotton shorts, tied loosely at the waist, and a matching crop top with a low scooped neck. Katya could not help but wonder what the woman’s mighty cleavage would look like cupped in her hands. The woman had pale freckled skin and a gorgeously maintained unibrow that was styled and arched in accordance with all the latest fashion. There were a pair of cat eye sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose which the woman swept up with a slender hand, and left sitting on top of her head. And what a head! The woman was completely bald, not just buzzed, but shaven to the skin, and waxed. Her head shone in the Texan sun like a beacon, reflecting and refracting all light that passed over its pert roundness. It reminded Katya of the fabulous reflecting orbs her mother had collected when she was a little girl.

“It is nice to meet you, Katya.” The driver said in her smooth voice, tinged with intrigue. “My name is Sasha, Sasha Velour.” She quickly sauntered forward and bent, kissing Katya’s dirty hand where it hung at her side. “Your name…” The woman said. “Am I right in assuming that we are both sisters of the Motherland?”

“Indeed.” Katya responded, shifting her voice into the commanding tones she only used with kin of her Eastern ethnicity. “The ancestry of Russian runs in my veins.”

“And what beautiful veins they are.” the woman replied. She stood behind Katya now, her pelvis pressed against Katya’s ass and ran her smooth hands up and down Katya’s arms. “You may call me Sashki.” She purred in Katya’s ear, flicking the tip of her pink tongue into Katya’s waxy canal. Katya gritted her teeth, scrunched her eyes, and mentally forced her vagina dry.

“Enough.” Katya said, breaking away from Sasha’s powerful grip. “You have my pickles, I demand that you release them back into my custody. I won’t fall prey to your psycho-sexual mind games, vixen.”

“Vixen?” Sasha laughed a full throaty laugh. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against her. But I, on the other hand, can be easily persuaded.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katya said. She crossed her arms firmly across her chest, hiding the fact that even through her compression bra and apron, her nipples were visibly hardening.

“You Austin-Texans never do.” Sasha smiled. She bent down to touch her toes, stretching her hamstrings and waggeling her ass about. “So you say my pickles are your pickles, huh?”

“That’s right.” Katya persisted. “Back at TM's factory they accidently gave my order to you. I have your order with me, the one for the Vegetable Shack, in El Paso. I’ve got the paperwork to prove it.”

“And I’ve got paperwork telling me I can’t get within three hundred yards of Cody Simpson.” The woman waved her hand dismissively and shrugged. “And yet, here I am.” Katya growled at the back of her throat. She knew how to handle Russians and she knew how to handle people who violated restraining orders, but a combination of the two…? For the first time Katya feared she wasn’t up to the task.

“Nevertheless.” Katya said. “Your establishment could not  _ possibly _ need all those pickles from my order, so let’s just swap our loads and be done with it.”

“Katya, Katya. My sweet Katya.” Sasha Velour hummed, skipping in place like a schoolgirl doing double dutch. “Would that I could exchange my cargo with yours, but, you see, how can I trust you? You are a stranger to me.”

“Whatever you need me to do, I will do.” Katya said. “How can I prove myself?” Sasha thought about this for a moment, scratching her unibrow with her pinky.

“There is a test…” Sasha began, then shook her head, scattering rays of light about her. “No, you could not do it.”

“I can and I will.” Katya said firmly. “I have come too damn far to leave here without my pickles, and your little test isn’t going to deter me.” Sasha stared at her appraisingly, then smiled.

“Very well.” The woman said, her white grin almost as dazzling as her head. “Strip naked, lay on the ground, and get yourself wet. Wetter than you have ever fucking been.”

“You’re on.” Katya said, and did as she was told. She threw her clothes to the dirt road, not caring if they got dirty, and lowered herself down after them. She lay on her back, knees bent, hair spread out beneath her. She closed her eyes and conjured up the image of her ex, the one person who could make her dripping wet without a doubt, no matter the complicated emotions between them. Katya listened to Sasha approach, heard the woman kneel in front of her and felt her strong slender fingers gouge their way into her pussy crack.

“Are you familiar with the Song of Confinement?” Sasha asked in her cunning voice, her slowly massaging hand encouraging Katya’s moisture.

Katya stiffened, her mind coming alive with the woman’s words. Naming the song was exactly one thing and one thing only: a trigger. “Of course.” Katya breathed. “Every Russian is.” She opened her eyes and watched Sasha Velour masturbate her. The woman opened a bottle of lube with her teeth and poured one sixteenth of it onto Katya’s vagina, furthering the terraformation. She lengthened her toned arm and poured the other fifteen sixteenths of the lube onto her own bald head, casting her sunglasses aside.

“Good.” Sasha whispered. “Then you are prepared for what comes next. This is the test.”

“Absolutely.” Katya said without fear. Like any Russian, Katya had been mentally preparing for this ancient trust ritual for years. She let her hands trace intricate patterns in the dirt road and did not dare move as Sasha lowered herself, snorted once, twice, and began slowly inserting her smooth bald head into the folds of Katya’s vagina.

“Oh Sashki.” Katya moaned, accepting the woman’s knowledge-centre into her body as so many generations of her ancestors had done before. Sasha only stuck once during the process; briefly her upturned pointed nose caught in Katya’s labia, but Katya sucked in her breath and expanded, allowing safe passage.

After about ten minutes of gentle coercion, Sasha was contained within Katya up to her shoulders, Katya’s warmness pasing to the base of the woman’s neck.

_ It’s time. _ Katya thought to herself, savouring this intimate and primordial moment. She knew the words, and when Sasha tapped her sharply on the knee, she began to sing. 

Like the genetically inherited songs of songbirds, the Song of Confinement flowed from Katya as she warbled on the dirt road in the light of the sun. She crooned and crowed, her poor singing voice made for no other song than this one. The words spoke of trust, of a bond between strangers, of blood and hunger and power and the never ending winter. As she sang she heard Sasha join in, harmonizing from deep within her, the sweet tones vibrating every nerve ending at Katya’s disposal. Their songs flowed together, ebbing and rising, gyrating into a whirlpool of music that combined their souls into one.

Twenty minutes later Sasha lay beside Katya on the dirt road, completely naked and curled in the fetal position. Katya licked the goop from the woman’s head, held her, cradled her, cried and laughed with her, the ritual finally complete. Katya had never felt so connected to her past lives, and she thanked her proto-slavic gods for answering her prayers.

“That was incredible.” Katya said aloud. Sashki, thank you so so much for partaking in the Song of Confinement with me. Don’t think me naive, but that was my first time ever doing it.”

“I know,” Sasha said, “because it was mine too.” She leaned over and kissed Katya fully on the mouth. “One more thing.” She whispered into Katya. “You can have your fucking pickles!”  The women laughed, smacked each other on the ass, stood up and got dressed.

 

An hour later Katya and Sasha sat side by side at one of the smoky saloons that dot the Texan interstate highways like pimples. Their practically matching big rig chrome finished semi trucks were parked outside, and the proper pickle orders had been moved into the proper trucks. All was right with the world. Katya sucked contentedly on her mai tai and listened to Sasha tell fascinating stories from her past. The women had exchanged numbers and become fast friends, the ritualistic experience they had shared binding them for life. They talked until the late hours of the night, throwing their respective timelines to the wind to enjoy each other’s company.

“Sorry m’ladies, that was last call.” The bartender finally said a little past two AM. “I’m going to have to kick you out.”

“Well Sashki, it was so nice to meet you.” Katya said, firmly shaking Sasha’s hand.

“You as well.” Sasha said, giving Katya a grin. “I’m so glad we were able to get everything sorted out, and even though it caused you stress that I accidently had your pickles, I’m still glad it happened.

“Likewise.” Katya said. They hopped down from the bar and waltzed outside into the warm night air that felt alive in that way that only Texas air can. Suddenly, Katya stopped dead in her tracks.

“Miss! Miss!” A voice cried as a young boy came running up to the two women. Dirty and unkempt, a street urchin certainly, he was tugging on Katya’s leg but she could not move, could not even hear him.

“What is it boy?” Sasha asked distressed.

“I saw her, Miss!” The boy cried. “I saw her do it!” He pointed to where Katya was starting, to where a little while ago she had parked her red semi truck, to where now the spot sat empty.

“It was the Texan queen of grand theft auto!” The boy weeped. “It was Charlie Hydes herself. I saw her do it! I saw her steal your truck!”

Katya collapsed to her knees, her world going dark around her as her head slapped against the cold hard concrete.

 

COMING SOON:

 

**CHAPTER NINE: The Lessons We Learn From The Youths That We Bore**

After the world has ended, what remains?


End file.
